arttmer 


BY 


AUTHOR  OP     '  TO  HAVE   AND  TO   HOLD 
"PRISONERS   OF    HOPE"    ETC. 


HARPER   &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK   AND  LONDON 

1904 


Copyright,  1903,  by  MARY  JOHNSTON. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  March,  1904. 


TO 


J.  A.  J.  AND   W.  A.  J. 


912889 


9+. 


c  . 

*-^ 


fs. 


if 


t, 


3IUu0trattntts 


"OH,    I    ENVIED    HER!'    SHE    CRIED"       .       .  Frontispiece 

"SIR  JOHN  THRUST  HIMSELF  BETWEEN  THE 

TWO" Facing  p       1 6 

"IT  WAS  BALDRY'S  SHIP,  THE  LITTLE 

STAR" 52 

'"DO  YOU  PURPOSE,  THEN,  THAT  HE  SHALL 

DIE?'  DEMANDED  BALDRY*'  ....  138 

"'l  BEG  THE  SHORTEST  SHRIFT  THAT  YOU 

MAY  GIVE'" 174 

"DAMARIS,  THEY  CALL  HIM  TRAITOR"   .       190 

"'AH,  LOOK  NOT  so  UPON  ME!'"  .  .  .       244 

"  THE  FRIAR  PRESENTED  A  BLANK  COUNTE 
NANCE  TO  SIR  MORTIMER'S  QUERIES  "  260 

"  '  LAD,    LAD,'    HE    WHISPERED,   '  WHERE    IS 

THY    MASTER?'" "  284 


}},  VO* ._ 


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Hj^J^^*^^ 


IHnrfimtr 


|UT  if  we  return  not  from  our 
adventure,"  ended  Sir  Morti 
mer,  "if  the  sea  claims  us,  and 
upon  his  sandy  floor,  amid  his 
Armida  gardens,  the  silver- 
singing  mermaiden  marvel  at  that  wreckage 
which  was  once  a  tall  ship  and  at  those  bones 
which  once  were  animate, — if  strange  islands 
know  our  resting-place,  sunk  for  evermore  in 
huge  and  most  unkindly  forests, — if,  being  but 
pawns  in  a  mighty  game,  we  are  lost  or  changed, 
happy,  however,  in  that  the  white  hand  of  our 
Queen  hath  touched  us,  giving  thereby  conse 
cration  to  our  else  unworthiness, — if  we  find  no 
gold,  nor  take  one  ship  of  Spain,  nor  any  city 
treasure-stored, — if  we  suffer  a  myriad  sort  of 
sorrows  and  at  the  last  we  perish  miserably — " 


He  paused,  being  upon  his  feet,  a  man  of  about 
thirty  years,,  rich'ty:  dressed,  and  out  of  reason 
good  to,  look  -at.  .  In  hii  hand  was  a  great  wine- 
fciip,;  anxi'he  heltl  it'high.  "  I  drink  to  those  who 
follow  after!"  he  cried.  "I  drink  to  those  who 
fail — pebbles  cast  into  water  whose  ring  still 
wideneth,  reacheth  God  knows  what  unguess- 
able  shore  where  loss  may  yet  be  counted  gain! 
I  drink  to  Fortune  her  minions,  to  Francis  Drake 
and  John  Hawkins  and  Martin  Frobisher;  to  all 
adventurers  and  their  deeds  in  the  far-off  seas! 
I  drink  to  merry  England  and  to  the  day  when 
every  sea  shall  bring  her  tribute! — to  England, 
like  Aphrodite,  new-risen  from  the  main  I  Drink 
with  me!" 

The  tavern  of  the  Triple  Tun  rang  with  ac 
clamation,  and,  the  windows  being  set  wide  be 
cause  of  the  warmth  of  the  June  afternoon,  the 
noise  rushed  into  the  street  and  waylaid  the  ears 
of  them  who  went  busily  to  and  fro,  and  of  them 
who  lounged  in  the  doorway,  or  with  folded  arms 
played  Atlas  to  the  tavern  walls.  "  Who  be  the 
roisterers  within?"  demanded  a  passing  citizen 
of  one  of  these  supporters.  The  latter  made  no 
answer ;  he  was  a  ragged  retainer  of  Melpomene, 

2 


and  he  awaited  the  coming  forth  of  Sir  Mortimer 
Feme,  a  notable  encourager  of  all  who  would 
scale  Parnassus.  But  his  neighbor,  a  boy  in  blue 
and  silver,  squatted  upon  a  sunny  bench,  vouch 
safed  enlightenment. 

"Travellers  to  strange  places,"  quoth  he,  tak 
ing  a  straw  from  his  mouth  and  stretching  long 
arms.  "  Tall  men,  swingers  in  Brazil-beds,  par 
cel-gilt  with  the  Emperor  of  Manoa,  and  play 
fellows  to  the  nymphs  of  Don  Juan  Ponce  de 
Leon  his  fountain, — in  plain  words,  my  master, 
Sir  Mortimer  Feme,  Captain  of  the  Cygnet,  and 
his  guests  to  dinner,  to  wit,  Sir  John  Nevil,  Ad 
miral  of  our  fleet,  with  sundry  of  us  captains  and 
gentlemen  adventurers  to  the  Indies,  and,  for 
seasoning,  a  handful  of  my  master's  poor  friends, 
such  as  courtiers  and  great  lords  and  poets." 

"Thinkest  to  don  thy  master's  wit  with  his 
livery?"  snapped  the  poetaster.  "  'Tis  a  chain 
for  a  man, — too  heavy  for  thy  wearing." 

The  boy  stretched  his  arms  again.  " '  Master' 
no  more  than  in  reason,"  quoth  he.  "I  also  am 
a  gentleman.  Heigho!  The  sun  shineth  hotter 
here  than  in  the  doldrums!" 

"Well,  go  thy  ways  for  a  sprightly  crack!" 


g>tr 

said  the  citizen,  preparing  to  go  his.  "I  know 
them  now,  for  my  cousin  Parker  hath  a  venture 
in  the  Mere  Honour,  and  that  is  the  great  ship 
the  Queen  hath  lent  Sir  John,  his  other  ships 
being  the  Marigold,  the  Cygnet,  and  the  Star,  and 
they're  all  a-lying  above  Greenwich,  ready  to 
sail  on  the  morrow  for  the  Spanish  Main." 

"You've  hit  it  in  the  clout,"  yawned  the  boy. 
"I'll  bring  you  an  emerald  hollowed  out  for  a 
reliquary — if  I  think  on't." 

Within-doors,  in  the  Triple  Tun's  best  room, 
where  much  sherris  sack  was  being  drunk,  a  gen 
tleman  with  a  long  face,  and  mustachios  twirled 
to  a  point,  leaned  his  arm  upon  the  table  and  ad 
dressed  him  whose  pledge  had  been  so  general. 
"  Armida  gardens  and  silver-singing  mermaiden 
and  Aphrodite  England  quotha!  Pike  and  cut 
lass  and  good  red  gold!  saith  the  plain  man.  O 
Apollo,  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  learned  and  a 
maker  of  songs!" 

Athwart  his  laughing  words  came  from  the 
lower  end  of  the  board  a  deep  and  harsh  voice. 
The  speaker  was  Captain  Robert  Baldry  of  the 
Star,  and  he  used  the  deliberation  of  one  who  in 
his  drinking  had  gone  far  and  fast.  "  I  pledge 

4 


all  scholars  turned  soldiers,"  he  said,  "all  court 
iers  who  stay  not  at  court,  all  poets  who  win  tall 
ships  at  the  point  of  a  canzonetta!  Did  Sir 
Mortimer  Feme  make  verses — elegies  and  epi 
taphs  and  such  toys — at  Fayal  in  the  Azores  two 
years  ago?" 

There  followed  his  speech,  heard  of  all  in  the 
room,  a  moment  of  amazed  silence.  Mortimer 
Feme  put  his  tankard  softly  down  and  turned  in 
his  seat  so  that  he  might  more  closely  observe  his 
fellow  adventurer. 

"  For  myself,  when  an  Armada  is  at  my  heels, 
the  cares  of  the  moon  do  not  concern  me,"  went 
on  Baldry,  with  the  gravity  of  an  oracle.  "  Had 
Nero  not  fiddled,  perhaps  Rome  had  not  burned." 

"And  where  got  you  that  information,  sir?" 
asked  his  *host,  in  a  most  courtier-like  voice. 

"  Oh,  in  the  streets  of  Rome,  a  thousand  years 
ago!  'Twas  common  talk."  The  Captain  of 
the  Star  tilted  his  cup  and  was  grieved  to  find  it 
empty. 

"I  have  later  news,"  said  the  other,  as 
smoothly  as  before.  ' '  At  Fayal  in  the  Azores — ' ' 

He  was  interrupted  by  Sir  John  Nevil,  who 
had  risen  from  his  chair,  and  beneath  whose  stare 

5 


of  surprise  and  anger  Baldry,  being  far  from 
actual  drunkenness,  moved  uneasily. 

"I  will  speak,  Mortimer,"  said  the  Admiral, 
"Captain  Baldry  not  being  my  guest.  Sir,  at 
Fayal  in  the  Azores  that  disastrous  day  we  did 
what  we  could — mortal  men  can  do  no  more. 
Taken  by  surprise  as  we  were,  ships  were  lost 
and  brave  men  tasted  death,  but  there  was  no 
shame.  He  who  held  command  that  lamentable 
day  was  Captain — now  Sir  Mortimer — Feme ;  for 
I,  who  was  Admiral  of  the  expedition,  must  lie 
in  my  cabin,  ill  almost  unto  death  of  a  calenture. 
I  dare  aver  that  no  wiser  head  ever  drew  safety 
for  many  from  such  extremity  of  peril,  and  no 
readier  sword  ever  dearly  avenged  one  day's 
defeat  and  loss.  Your  news,  sir,  was  false.  I 
drink  to  a  gentleman  of  known  discretion,  proved 
courage,  unstained  honor — " 

It  needed  not  the  glance  of  his  eye  to  bring 
men  to  their  feet.  They  rose,  courtiers  and  uni 
versity  wits,  soldiers  home  from  the  Low  Coun 
tries,  kinsmen  and  country  friends,  wealthy  mer 
chants  who  had  staked  their  gold  in  this  and 
other  voyages,  adventurers  who  with  Frobisher 
and  Gilbert  had  sailed  the  icy  seas,  or  with  Drake 

6 


and  Hawkins  had  gazed  upon  the  Southern  Cross, 
— Captain  Baptist  Manwood,  of  the  Marigold, 
Lieutenant  Ambrose  Wynch,  Giles  Arden,  An 
thony  Paget,  good  men  and  tall,  who  greatly 
prized  the  man  who  alone  kept  his  seat,  smiling 
upon  them  from  the  head  of  the  long  table  in  the 
Triple  Tun's  best  room.  Baldry,  muttering  in 
his  beard  that  he  had  made  a  throw  amiss  and 
that  the  wine  was  to  blame,  stumbled  to  his  feet 
and  stood  with  the  rest.  "  Sir  Mortimer  Feme!" 
cried  they  all,  and  drank  to  the  seated  figure. 
The  name  was  loudly  called,  and  thus  it  was  no 
slight  tide  of  sound  which  bore  it,  that  high  noon 
in  the  year  158-,  into  the  busy  London  street. 
Bow  Bells  were  ringing,  and  to  the  boy  in  blue 
and  silver  upon  the  bench  without  the  door  they 
seemed  to  take  the  words  and  sound  them  again 
and  again,  deeply,  clearly,  above  the  voices  of 
the  city. 

Mortimer  Feme,  his  hand  resting  upon  the 
table  before  him,  waited  until  there  was  quiet  in 
the  tavern  of  the  Triple  Tun,  then,  because  he 
felt  deeply,  spoke  lightly. 

"  My  lords  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  and  you, 
John  Nevil,  whom  I  reverence  as  my  commander 

7 


and  love  as  my  friend,  I  give  you  thanks.  Did 
we  lose  at  Fayal?  Then,  this  voyage,  at  some 
other  golden  island,  we  shall  win !  Honor  stayed 
with  us  that  bloody  day,  and  shall  we  not  now 
bring  her  home  enthroned?  Ay,  and  for  her 
handmaidens  fame  and  noble  service  and  wealth, 
— wealth  with  which  to  send  forth  other  ships, 
hounds  of  the  sea  which  yet  may  pull  down  this 
Spanish  stag  of  ten!  By  my  faith,  I  sorrow  for 
you  whom  we  leave  behind!" 

"Look  that  I  overtake  you  not,  Mortimer!" 
cried  Sidney.  "  Walter  Raleigh  and  I  have  plans 
for  next  year.  You  and  I  may  yet  meet  beneath 
a  palm-tree!" 

"And  I  also,  Sir  Mortimer,"  exclaimed  Cap 
tain  Philip  Amadas.  "Sir  Walter  hath  prom 
ised  me  a  ship — " 

"When  the  old  knight  my  father  dies,  and  I 
come  into  my  property,"  put  in,  loudly,  a  fancy- 
fired  youth  from  Devon,  "I'll  go  out  over  bar  in 
a  ship  of  my  own!  I'll  have  all  my  mariners 
dressed  like  Sir  Hugh  Willoughby's  men  in  the 
picture,  and  when  I  come  home — " 

"  Towing  the  King  of  Spain  his  plate-fleet  be 
hind  you,"  quoth  the  mustachioed  gentleman. 

8 


" — all  my  sails  shall  be  cloth  of  gold,"  con 
tinued  wine  -  flushed  one  -  and  -  twenty.  "  The 
main-deck  shall  be  piled  with  bars  of  silver,  and 
in  the  hold  shall  be  pearls  and  pieces  of  gold, 
doubloons,  emeralds  as  great  as  filberts — " 

"At  Panama  saw  I  an  emerald  greater  than  a 
pigeon's  egg!"  cried  one  who  had  sailed  in  the 
Golden  Hind. 

Sir  Mortimer  laughed.  "Why,  our  very 
speech  grows  rich — as  did  thine  long  since, 
Philip  Sidney!  And  now,  Giles  Arden,  show 
these  stay-at-home  gentlemen  the  stones  the 
Bonaventure  brought  in  the  other  day  from  that 
coast  we  touched  at  two  years  agone.  If  we 
miss  the  plate-fleet,  my  masters,  if  we  find  Car 
tagena  or  Santa  Marta  too  strong  for  us,  there  is 
yet  the  unconquered  land,  the  Hesperidian  gar 
den  whence  came  these  golden  apples !  Deliver, 
good  dragon!" 

He  of  the  mustachios  laid  side  by  side  upon 
the  board  three  pieces  of  glittering  rock,  whereat 
every  man  bent  forward. 

"Marcasite?"  said  one,  doubtfully. 

"El  madre  del  oro?"  suggested  another. 

"White  spar,"  said  Arden,  authoritatively, 
9 


"  and  containeth  of  gold  ten  pounds  to  the  hun 
dredweight.  Moreover — "  He  sifted  down 
upon  the  dark  wood  beside  the  stones  a  thimble 
ful  of  dull  yellow  grains.  "  The  sands  of  Pacto- 
lus,  gentlemen!  Sure  'twas  in  no  Grecian  river 
that  King  Midas  bathed  himself!" 

Those  of  the  company  to  whom  had  never  be 
fore  been  exhibited  these  samples  of  imperial 
riches  craned  their  necks,  and  the  looks  of  some 
were  musing  and  of  others  keenly  eager.  The 
room  fell  silent,  and  still  they  gazed  and  gazed 
at  the  small  heap  of  glistening  stones  and  those 
few  grains  of  gold.  They  were  busy  men  in  the 
vanguard  of  a  quickened  age,  and  theirs  were  its 
ardors,  its  Argus-eyed  fancy  and  potent  imagina 
tion.  Show  them  an  acorn,  and  straightway 
they  saw  a  forest  of  oaks ;  an  inch  of  a  rainbow, 
and  the  mind  grasped  the  whole  vast  arch, 
zenith-reaching,  seven-colored,  enclosing  far  hori 
zons.  So  now,  in  addition  to  the  gleaming  frag 
ments  upon  the  table  before  them,  they  saw 
mountain  ranges  with  ledges  of  rock  all  sparkling 
like  this  ore,  deep  mines  with  Indian  workers, 
pack-trains,  and  burdened  holds  of  ships. 

After  a  time  one  lifted  a  piece  of  the  ore,  hes- 
10 


itatingly,  as  though  he  made  to  take  up  all  the 
Indies,  scrutinized  it  closely,  weighed  it,  passed 
it  to  his  neighbor.  It  went  the  round  of  the 
company,  each  man  handling  it,  each  with  the 
talisman  between  his  fingers  gazing  through  the 
bars  of  this  present  hour  at  a  pageant  and  phan 
tasmagoria  of  his  own  creating.  At  last  it  came 
to  the  hand  of  an  old  merchant,  who  held  it  a 
moment  or  two,  looking  steadfastly  upon  it,  then 
slowly  put  it  down. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "may  God  send  you  further 
ing  winds,  Sir  Mortimer  and  Sir  John,  and  make 
their  galleons  and  galliasses,  their  caravels  and 
carracks,  as  bowed  corn  before  you!  Those  of 
your  company  who  are  to  die,  may  they  die 
cleanly,  and  those  who  are  to  live,  live  nobly, 
and  may  not  one  of  you  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
Holy  Office." 

"Amen  to  that,  Master  Hudson,"  quoth  Ar- 
den. 

"The  Holy  Office!"  cried  a  Banbury  man. 
"I  had  a  cousin,  sirs, — an  honest  fellow,  with 
whom  I  had  gone  bird's-nesting  when  we  were 
boys  together!  He  was  master  of  a  merchant 
man — the  Red  Lion — that  by  foul  treachery  was 

ii 


taken  by  the  Spaniards  at  Gales.  The  priests 
put  forth  their  hands  and  clutched  him,  who  was 
ever  outspoken,  ever  held  fast  to  his  own  opin 
ion  !  .  .  .  To  die !  that  is  easy ;  but  when  I  learned 
what  was  done  to  him  before  he  was  let  to  die— 
The  speaker  broke  off  with  an  oath  and  sat  with 
fixed  gaze,  his  hand  beating  upon  the  table  a 
noiseless  tattoo. 

"To  die,"  said  Mortimer  Feme  slowly.  "To 
die  cleanly,  having  lived  nobly — it  is  a  good  wish, 
Master  Hudson!  To  die  greatly — as  did  your 
cousin,  sir, — a  good  knight  and  true,  defending 
faith  and  loyalty,  what  more  consummate  flower 
for  crown  of  life?  What  loftier  victory,  supremer 
triumph?  Pain  of  body,  what  is  it?  Let  the 
body  cry  out,  so  that  it  betray  not  the  mind, 
cheat  not  the  soul  into  a  remediless  prison  of 
perdition  and  shame!" 

He  drank  of  his  wine,  then  with  a  slight  laugh 
and  wave  of  his  hand  dismissed  a  subject  too 
grave  for  the  hour.  A  little  later  he  arose  with 
his  guests  from  the  table,  and  since  time  was 
passing  and  for  some  there  was  much  to  do,  men 
began  to  exchange  farewells.  To-morrow  would 
see  the  adventurers  gone  from  England;  to-day 

12 


kinsmen  and  friends  must  say  good-by,  warmly, 
with  clasping  of  hands  and  embracing,  even  with 
tears,  for  it  was  an  age  when  men  did  not  scorn 
to  show  emotion.  A  thousand  perils  awaited 
those  who  went,  nor  for  those  who  stayed  would 
time  or  tide  make  tarrying.  It  was  most  possible 
that  they  who  parted  now  would  find,  this  side 
eternity,  no  second  inn  of  meeting. 

From  his  perch  beside  the  door,  the  boy  in 
blue  and  silver  watched  his  master's  guests  step 
into  the  sunlight  and  go  away.  A  throng  had 
gathered  in  front  of  the  tavern,  for  the  most  part 
of  those  within  were  men  of  note,  and  Sir  John 
Nevil's  adventure  to  the  Indies  had  long  been 
general  talk.  Singly  or  in  little  groups  the  rev 
ellers  issued  from  the  tavern,  and  for  this  or  that 
known  figure  and  favorite  the  crowd  had  its  com 
ment  and  cheering.  At  last  all  were  gone  save 
the  adventurers  themselves,  who,  having  certain 
final  arrangements  to  make,  stayed  to  hold  coun 
cil  in  the  Triple  Tun's  long  room. 

Their  conference  was  not  long.  Presently 
came  forth  Captain  Baptist  Manwood  of  the 
Marigold  with  his  lieutenants,  Wynch  and  Paget, 
and  Captain  Robert  Baldry  of  the  Star.  The 

13 


four,  talking  together,  started  towards  the  water 
side  where  they  were  to  take  boat  for  the  ships 
that  lay  above  Greenwich,  but  ere  they  had  gone 
forty  paces  Baldry  felt  his  sleeve  twitched. 
Turning,  he  found  at  his  elbow  the  blue  and  silver 
sprig  who  served  Sir  Mortimer  Feme. 

"Save  you,  sir,"  said  the  boy.  "There's  a 
gentleman  at  the  Triple  Tun  desires  your  honor 
would  give  him  five  minutes  of  your  company." 

"  I  did  expect  a  man  of  my  acquaintance,  a 
Paul's  man  with  a  good  rapier  to  sell,"  quoth 
Baldry.  "  Boy,  is  the  gentleman  a  lean  gentle 
man  with  a  Duke  Humphrey  look?  Wait  for 
me,  sirs,  at  the  stairs!" 

Within  the  Triple  Tun,  Sir  John  Nevil  yet  sat 
at  table  pondering  certain  maps  and  charts 
spread  out  before  him,  while  Mortimer  Feme, 
having  re-entered  the  room  after  a  moment's  ab 
sence,  leaned  over  his  commander's  shoulder  and 
watched  the  latter's  forefinger  tracing  the  coast 
line  from  the  Cape  of  Three  Points  to  Golden 
Castile.  By  the  window  stood  Arden,  while  on  a 
settle  near  him  lounged  Henry  Sedley,  lieutenant 
to  the  Captain  of  the  Cygnet;  moreover  a  young 
gentleman  of  great  promise,  a  smooth,  dark, 

14 


Mortimer 

melanclioly  beauty,  and  a  pretty  taste  in  dress. 
In  his  hands  was  a  gittern  which  had  been  hang 
ing  on  the  wall  above  him,  and  he  played  upon 
it,  softly,  a  sweet  and  plaintive  air. 

In  upon  these  four  burst  Baldry,  who,  not 
finding  the  Paul's  man  and  trader  in  rapiers, 
drew  himself  up  sharply.  Sir  Mortimer  came 
forward  and  made  him  a  low  bow,  which  he,  not 
to  be  outdone  in  courtesy,  any  more  than  in 
weightier  matters,  returned  in  his  own  manner, 
fierce  and  arrogant  as  that  of  a  Spanish  con 
quistador. 

"Captain  Robert  Baldry,  I  trusted  that  you 
would  return,"  said  Feme.  "And  now,  since 
you  are  no  longer  guest  of  mine,  we  will  resume 
our  talk  of  Fayal  in  the  Azores.  Your  gossips 
lied,  sir;  and  he  who,  not  staying  to  examine  a 
quarrel,  becomes  a  repeater  of  lies,  may  chance 
upon  a  summer  day,  in  a  tavern  such  as  this,  to 
be  called  a  liar.  My  cartel,  sir!" 

He  flung  his  glove,  which  scarce  had  felt  the 
floor  before  the  other  snatched  it  up.  "God's 
death!  you  shall  be  accommodated!"  he  cried. 
"Here  and  now,  is't  not?  and  with  sword  and 
dagger?  Sir,  I  will  spit  you  like  a  lark,  or  like 


the  Spaniard  I  did  vanquish  for  a  Harry  shilling 
at  El  Gran'  Canario,  last  Luke's  day— 

The  three  witnesses  of  the  challenge  sprang  to 
their  feet,  the  gittern  falling  from  Sedley's 
hands,  and  Sir  John's  papers  fluttering  to  the 
floor.  The  latter  thrust  himself  between  .the 
two  who  had  bared  their  weapons.  "What  is 
this,  gentlemen?  Mortimer  Feme,  put  up  your 
sword!  Captain  Baldry,  your  valor  may  keep 
for  the  Spaniards!  Obey  me,  sirs!" 

"  Let  be,  John  Nevil,"  said  Feme.  "  To-mor 
row  I  become  your  sworn  man.  To  -  day  my 
honor  is  my  Admiral!" 

"Will  you  walk,  Sir  Mortimer  Feme?"  de 
manded  Baldry.  * '  The  Bull  and  Bear,  just  down 
the  street,  hath  a  little  parlor — a  most  sweet 
retired  place,  and  beareth  no  likeness  to  the 
poop  of  the  Mere  Honour.  Sir  John  Nevil,  your 
servant,  sir — to-morrow!" 

"My  servant  to-day,  sir,"  thundered  the  Ad 
miral,  "  in  that  I  will  force  you  to  leave  this  quar 
rel!  Death  of  my  life!  shall  this  get  abroad? 
Not  that  common  soldiers  or  mariners  ashore 
fall  out  and  cudgel  each  other  until  the  one  can 
not  handle  a  rope  nor  the  other  a  morris-pike! 

16 


SIR  JOHN  THRUST' HIMSELF  BETWEEN  THE  TWO" 


not  that  wild  gallants,  reckless  and  broken  ad 
venturers  whose  loss  the  next  daredevil  scamp 
may  supply,  choose  the  eve  of  sailing  for  a  duello, 
in  which  one  or  both  may  be  slain;  but  that 
strive  together  my  captains,  men  vowed  to  noble 
service,  loyal  aid,  whose  names  are  in  all  mouths, 
who  go  forth  upon  this  adventure  not  (I  trust  in 
God)  with  an  eye  single  to  the  gain  of  the  purse, 
but  thinking,  rather,  to  pluck  green  laurels  for 
themselves,  and  to  bring  to  the  Queen  and  Eng 
land  gifts  of  waning  danger,  waxing  power! 
What  reproach — what  evil  augury — nay,  per 
haps,  what  maiming  of  our  enterprise!  Lead 
ers  and  commanders  that  you  are,  with  your 
goodly  ships,  your  mariners  and  soldiers  await 
ing  you,  and  above  us  all  the  lode-star  of  noblest 
duty,  truest  honor — will  you  thus  prefer  to  the 
common  good  your  private  quarrel?  Nay,  now, 
I  might  say '  you  shall  not ' ;  but,  instead,  I  choose 
to  think  you  will  not!" 

The  speech  was  of  the  longest  for  the  Admiral, 
who  was  a  man  of  golden  silences.  His  look 
had  been  upon  Baldry,  but  his  words  were  for 
Mortimer  Feme,  at  whom  he  looked  not  at 
all.  "I  have  been  challenged,  sir,"  cried  Bald- 


IMr   Jfiorttmer 

ry,  roughly.  "  Draw  back  ?  God's  wounds, 
not  I!" 

His  antagonist  bit  his  lip  until  the  blood 
sprang.  "The  insult  was  gross,"  he  said,  with 
haughtiness,  "but  since  I  may  not  deny  the 
truth  of  your  words,  John  Nevil,  I  will  reword 
my  cartel.  Captain  Robert  Baldry,  I  do  sol 
emnly  challenge  you  to  meet  me  with  sword  and 
dagger  upon  that  day  which  sees  our  return  to 
England!" 

"A  far  day  that,  perhaps!"  cried  Baldry. 
"But  so  be  it!  I'll  not  fail  you,  Sir  Mortimer 
Feme.  Look  that  you  fail  not  me!" 

"Sir!"  cried  Feme,  sharply. 

The  Admiral  struck  the  table  a  great  blow. 
"Gentlemen,  no  more  of  this!  What!  will  you 
in  this  mood  go  forth  side  by  side  to  meet  a  com 
mon  foe?  Nay,  I  must  have  you  touch  hands!" 

The  Captain  of  the  Cygnet  held  out  his  hand. 
He  of  the  Star  first  swore,  then  burst  into  a  great 
laugh;  finally  laid  his  own  upon  it. 

"  Now  we  are  turtle-doves,  Sir  John,  nothing 
less!  and  the  Star  and  the  Cygnet  may  bill  and 
coo  from  the  Thames  to  Terra  Firma!"  Sud 
denly  he  ceased  to  laugh,  and  let  fall  his  hand, 

18 


"But  i  have  not  forgotten,"  he  said,  "that  at 
Fayal  in  the  Azores  I  had  a  brother  slain." 

He  was  gone,  swinging  from  the  room  with 
scant  ceremony,  loudly  ordering  from  his  path 
the  loiterers  at  the  inn  door.  They  whose  com 
pany  he  had  quitted  were  silent  for  a  moment; 
then  said  Sir  Mortimer,  slowly:  "I  remember 
now — there  was  a  Thomas  Baldry,  master  of  the 
Speedwell.  Well,  it  was  a  sorry  business  that 
day!  If  from  that  muck  of  blood  and  horror 
was  born  Detraction — " 

"The  man  was  mad!"  thrust  in  young  Sedley, 
hotly.  "  Detraction  and  you  have  no  acquaint 
ance." 

Feme,  with  a  slight  laugh,  stooped  to  pick  up 
the  fallen  gittern.  "She  kept  knighthood  and 
me  apart  for  a  year,  Henry.  'Tis  a  powerful 
dame,  a  most  subtle  and  womanish  foe,  who 
knoweth  not  or  esteemeth  not  the  rules  of  chiv 
alry.  Having  yielded  to  plain  Truth,  she  yet, 
as  to-day,  raiseth  unawares  an  arm  to  strike." 
He  hung  the  gittern  upon  its  peg,  then  went 
across  to  the  Admiral  and  put  both  hands  upon 
his  shoulders.  The  smile  was  yet  upon  his  lips, 
but  his  voice  had  a  bitter  ring.  "John,  John," 

19 


he  said,  "old  wounds  leave  not  their  aching. 
That  tall,  fanfaronading  fellow  hath  a  power  to 
anger  me, — not  his  words  alone,  but  the  man 
himself.  .  .  .  Well,  let  him  go  until  the  day  we 
come  sailing  back  to  England !  For  his  words — ' ' 
He  paused  and  a  shadow  came  over  his  face. 
"Who  knows  himself?"  he  said.  "There  are 
times  when  I  look  within  and  doubt  my  every 
quality  that  men  are  pleased  to  give  me.  God 
smiles  upon  me — perhaps  He  smiles  with  con 
tempt!  ...  I  would  that  I  had  followed,  not  led, 
that  day  at  Fayal!" 

Arden  burst  into  a  laugh.  The  Admiral 
turned  and  stared  at  him  who  had  spoken  with 
a  countenance  half  severity,  half  deep  affection. 
"What!  stings  that  yet?"  he  said.  "  I  think  you 
may  have  that  knowledge  of  yourself  that  you 
were  born  to  lead,  and  that  knowledge  of  higher 
things  that  shame  is  of  the  devil,  but  defeat 
ofttimes  of  God.  How  idly  do  we  talk  to 
day!" 

"Idly  enough,"  agreed  Feme  with  a  quick 
sigh.  He  lifted  his  hands  from  the  other's  shoul 
ders,  and  with  an  effort  too  instantaneous  to  be 
apparent  shook  off  his  melancholy.  Arden  took 

20 


up  his  hat  and  swung  his  short  cloak  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Since  we  may  not  fight,"  he  said,  "I'll  e'en 
go  play.  There's  a  pretty  lady  hard  by  who 
loves  me  dearly.  I'll  go  tell  her  tales  of  the  Carib 
beauties.  Master  Sedley,  you  are  for  the  court, 
I  know.  Would  the  gods  had  sent  me  such  a 
sister!  Do  you  go  to  Leicester  House,  Morti 
mer?  If  not,  my  fair  Discretion  hath  a  mate — " 

"I,"  answered  Feme,  "am  also  for  Green 
wich." 

Arden  laughed  again.  "  Her  Grace  gives  you 
yet  another  audience?  Or  is  it  that  hath  come 
to  court  that  Nonpareil,  that  radiant  Incognita, 
that  be-rhymed  Dione  at  whose  real  name  you 
keep  us  guessing?  I  thought  the  violet  satin  was 
not  for  naught!" 

"  In  that  you  speak  with  truth,"  said  the  other, 
coolly,  "for  thirty  acres  of  good  Devon  land 
went  to  its  procuring.  Since  you  are  for  the 
court,  Henry  Sedley,  one  wherry  may  carry  the 
two  of  us." 

When  the  two  adventurers  and  the  boy  in  blue 
and  silver  had  made  half  the  distance  to  the 
pleasant  palace  where,  like  a  flight  of  multicol- 

21 


ored  birds,  had  settled  for  the  moment  Eliza 
beth's  migratory  court,  the  gentlemen  became 
taciturn  and  fell  at  length  to  silent  musing,  each 
upon  his  own  affairs.  The  boy  liked  it  not,  for 
their  discourse  had  been  of  armor  and  devices,  of 
war-horses  and  Spanish  swords,  and  such  knight 
ly  matters  as  pleased  him  to  the  marrow.  He 
himself  (Robin-a-dale  they  called  him)  meant  to 
be  altogether  such  a  one  as  his  master  in  violet 
satin.  Not  a  sea-dog  simply  and  terrible  fighter 
like  Captain  Man  wood  or  Ambrose  Wynch,  nor  a 
rufrler  like  Baldry,  nor  even  a  high,  cold  gentle 
man  like  Sir  John,  who  slew  Spaniards  for  the 
good  of  God  and  the  Queen,  and  whose  slow 
words  when  he  was  displeased  cut  like  a  rope's 
end.  But  he  would  fight  and  he  would  sing;  he 
would  laugh  with  his  foe  and  then  courteously 
kill  him;  he  would  know  how  to  enter  the  pres 
ence,  how  to  make  a  great  Queen  smile  and  sigh ; 
and  then  again,  amid  the  thunder  and  reek  of 
the  fight,  on  decks  slippery  with  blood,  he  would 
strain,  half  naked,  with  the  mariners,  he  would 
lead  the  boarders,  he  would  deal  death  with  a 
flashing  sword  and  a  face  that  seen  through  the 
smoke  wreaths  was  so  calm  and  high! —  And 

22 


the  Queen  might  knight  him — one  day  the  Queen 
might  knight  him.  And  the  people  at  home, 
turning  in  the  street,  would  look  and  cry,  "  Tis 
Sir  Robert  Dale!"  as  now  they  cry  "  Sir  Mortimer 
Feme!" 

Robin-a-dale  drew  in  his  breath  and  clenched 
his  hands  with  determination ;  then,  the  key  be 
ing  too  high  for  long  sustaining,  came  down  to 
earth  and  the  contemplation  of  the  bright-running 
Thames,  its  shifting  banks,  and  the  shipping  on 
its  bosom.  The  river  glided  between  tall  houses, 
and  there  were  voices  on  the  water,  sounding 
from  stately  barges,  swift-plying  wherries,  ships 
at  anchor,  both  great  and  small.  Over  all 
played  mild  sunshine,  hung  pale  blue  skies.  The 
boy  thought  of  other  rivers  he  had  seen  and 
would  see  again,  silent  streams  gliding  through 
forests  of  a  fearful  loveliness,  miles  of  churned 
foam  rushing  between  black  teeth  of  jagged  rock 
to  the  sheer,  desperate,  earth-shaking  cataract, 
liquid  highways  to  the  realms  of  strange  dreams ! 
He  turned  involuntarily  and  met  his  master's 
eye.  Between  these  two,  master  and  boy,  knave 
and  knight,  there  was  at  times  so  strange  a  com 
prehension  that  Robin-a-dale  was  scarcely 

23 


startled   to   find   that   his   thoughts   had  been 
read. 

"Ay,  Robin,"  said  Feme,  smiling,  "other  and 
stranger  waters  than  those  of  Father  Thames! 
And  yet  I  know  not.  Life  is  one,  though  to-day 
we  glide  through  the  sunshine  to  a  fair  Queen's 
palace,  and  to-morrow  we  strive  like  fiends  from 
hell  for  those  two  sirens,  Lust  of  Gold  and  Lust 
of  Blood.  Therefore,  Robin,  an  you  toss  your 
silver  brooch  into  the  Thames  it  may  come  to 
hand  on  the  other  side  of  the  world,  swirling 
towards  you  in  some  Arethusa  fountain." 

"  I  see  the  ships,  master !"  cried  the  boy.  "  Ho, 
the  Cygnet,  the  bonny  white  Cygnet!" 

They  lay  in  a  half -moon,  with  the  westering 
sun  striking  full  upon  the  windows  of  their  high, 
castellated  poops.  Their  great  guns  gleamed; 
mast  and  spar  and  rigging  made  network  against 
the  blue ;  high  in  air  floated  bright  pennants  and 
the  red  cross  in  the  white  field.  To  and  fro  plied 
small  boats,  while  over  the  water  to  them  in  the 
wherry  came  a  pleasant  hum  of  preparation  for 
the  morrow's  sailing.  Upon  the  Cygnet,  lying 
next  to  the  Mere  Honour,  and  a  very  noble  ship, 
the  mariners  began  to  sing. 

24 


"Shall  we  not  row  more  closely?"  cried  Sed- 
ley.  "  The  Cygnet  knows  not  that  it  is  you  who 
pass!" 

Sir  Mortimer  laughed.  "No,  no;  I  come  to 
her  arms  from  the  Palace  to-night !  Trouble  her 
not  now  with  genuflections  and  salutings."  His 
eyes  dwelt  with  love  upon  his  ship.  "  How 
clearly  sounds  the  singing!"  he  said. 

So  clearly  did  it  sound  over  the  water  that  it 
kept  with  them  when  the  ships  were  passed. 
Robin-a-dale  had  his  fancies,  to  which  at  times 
he  gave  voice,  scarce  knowing  that  he  had 
spoken.  'Tis  the  ship  herself  that  sings,"  he 
now  began  to  say  to  himself  in  a  low  voice,  over 
and  over  again.  'Tis  the  ship  singing,  the  ship 
singing  because  she  goes  on  a  voyage — a  long 
voyage!" 

"Sirrah!"  cried  his  master,  somewhat  sharply. 
"Know  you  not  that  the  swan  sings  but  upon 
one  voyage,  and  that  her  last?  'Tis  not  the 
Cygnet  that  sings,  but  upon  her  sing  my  mar 
iners  and  soldiers,  for  that  they  go  forth  to 
victory!" 

He  put  his  hands  behind  his  head,  and  with 
a  light  in  his  eyes  looked  back  to  the  dwin- 

25 


dling  ships.  "Victory!"  he  repeated  beneath 
his  breath.  "Such  fame,  such  service,  as  that 
earthworm,  that  same  Detraction,  shall  raise  no 
more  her  lying  head !"  He  turned  to  Sedley :  "  I 
am  glad,  Harry,  that  your  lot  is  cast  with  mine. 
For  we  go  forth  to  victory,  lad!" 

The  younger  man  answered  him  impetuously, 
a  flush  of  pride  mounting  to  his  smooth,  dark 
cheek.  "  I  doubt  it  not,  Sir  Mortimer,  nor  of 
my  gathering  laurels,  since  I  go  with  you!  I 
count  myself  most  fortunate."  He  threw  back 
his  head  and  laughed.  "  I  have  no  lady-love," 
he  said,  "  and  so  I  will  heap  the  laurels  in  the  lap 
of  my  sister  Damaris." 

By  now,  the  tide  being  with  them,  they  were 
nearing  Greenwich  House.  Feme  dipped  his 
hand  into  the  water,  then,  straightening  himself, 
shook  from  it  the  sparkling  drops,  and  looked  in 
the  face  of  the  youth  who  was  to  make  with  him 
his  maiden  voyage. 

"You  could  heap  laurels  in  the  lap  of  no 
sweeter  lady,"  he  said,  courteously.  "  I  thought 
you  went  on  yesterday  to  say  farewell  to  Mistress 
Damaris  Sedley." 

"Why,  so  I  did,"  said  the  other,  simply.  "We 
26 


said  farewell  with  our  eyes  in  the  presence,  while 
the  Queen  talked  with  my  Lord  of  Leicester;  in 
the  antechamber  with  our  hands;  in  the  long 
gallery  with  our  lips ;.  and  when  we  reached  the 
gardens,  and  there  was  none  at  all  to  see,  we  e'en 
put  our  arms  about  each  other  and  wept.  It  is 
a  right  noble  wench,  my  sister,  and  loves  me 
dearly.  And  then,  while  we  talked,  one  of  her 
fellow  maids  came  hurriedly  to  call  her,  for  her 
Grace  would  go  a-hawking,  and  Damans  was  in 
attendance.  So  I  swore  I  would  see  her  again 
to-day  though  'twere  but  for  a  moment." 

The  rowers  brought  the  wherry  to  the  Palace 
landing.  Sir  Mortimer,  stepping  out  upon  the 
broad  stairs,  began  to  mount  them  somewhat 
slowly,  Sedley  and  Robin-a-dale  following  him. 
Half-way  up,  Sedley,  noting  the  rich  suit  worn 
so  point-device,  and  aware  of  how  full  in  the  sun 
shine  of  the  Queen's  favor  stood  for  the  moment 
his  Captain,  asked  if  he  were  for  the  presence. 
Feme  shook  his  head  :  "Not  now.  .  .  .  May 
I  know,  Henry,  where  you  and  your  sister 
meet?" 

"  In  the  little  covert  of  the  park  where  we  said 
good -by  on  yesterday."  There  were  surprise 

27 


Sir   JH0rttm*r 

and  some  question  in  the  youth's  upv*ard  glance 
at  the  man  in  violet  satin,  standing  a  step  or 
two  above  him,  his  hand  resting  upon  the  stone 
balustrade,  a  smile  in  his  eyes,  but  none  upon 
the  finely  cut  lips,  quite  grave  and  steady  be 
neath  the  slight  mustache. 

Feme,  reading  the  question,  gave,  after  just  a 
moment's  pause,  the  answer.  "  My  dear  lad," 
he  said,  and  the  smile  in  his  eyes  grew  more  dis 
tinct  and  kindly,  "to  Mistress  Damaris  Sedley 
I  also  would  say  farewell."  He  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  young  man's  shoulder.  "For  I  would 
know,  Henry — I  would  know  if  through  all  the 
days  and  nights  that  await  us  over  the  brim  of 
to-morrow  I  may  dream  of  an  hour  to  come  when 
that  dear  and  fair  lady  shall  bid  me  welcome." 
His  eyes  looked  into  the  distance,  and  the  smile 
had  crept  to  his  lips.  "  It  was  my  meaning  to 
speak  to  her  to-night  before  I  left  the  Palace, 
but  this  chance  offers  better.  Will  you  give  me 
precedence,  Henry?  let  me  see  and  speak  to  your 
sister  alone  in  that  same  covert  of  which  you  tell 
me?" 

"  But — but — "  stammered  Sedley. 

Sir  Mortimer  laughed.  " '  But .  .  .  Dione!'  you 
28 


g>ir    IHorttmrr 

would  say.  '  Ah,  faithless  poet,  forsworn  knight !' 
you  would  say.  Not  so,  my  friend."  He  looked 
far  away  with  shining  eyes.  "That  unknown 
nymph,  that  lady  whom  I  praise  in  verse,  whose 
poet  I  am,  that  Dione  at  whose  real  name  you  all 
do  vainly  guess — it  is  thy  sister,  lad!  Nay,— 
she  knows  me  not  for  her  worshipper,  nor  do  I 
know  that  I  can  win  her  love.  I  would  try  ..." 
Sedley's  smooth  cheek  glowed  and  his  eyes 
shone.  He  was  young;  he  loved  his  sister,  or 
phaned  like  himself  and  the  neglected  ward  of  a 
decaying  house;  while  to  his  ardent  fancy  the 
man  above  him,  superb  in  his  violet  dress,  cour 
teous  and  excellent  in  all  that  he  did,  was  a  very 
Palmerin  or  Amadis  de  Gaul.  Now,  impetuous 
ly,  he  put  his  hand  upon  that  other  hand  touch 
ing  his  shoulder,  and  drew  it  to  his  lips  in  a 
caress,  of  which,  being  Elizabethans,  neither  was 
at  all  ashamed.  In  the  dark,  deeply  fringed 
eyes  that  he  raised  to  his  leader's  face  there  was 
a  boyish  and  poetic  adoration  for  the  sea-captain, 
the  man  of  war  who  was  yet  a  courtier  and  a 
scholar,  the  violet  knight  who  was  to  lead  him 
up  the  heights  which  long  ago  the  knight  himself 
had  scaled. 

29 


"  Damaris  is  a  fair  maid,  and  good  and  learn 
ed,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  half  shy,  half  eager. 
"May  you  dream  as  you  wish,  Sir  Mortimer! 
For  the  way  to  the  covert — 'tis  by  yonder  path 
that's  all  in  sunshine." 


II 

[ENEATH  a  great  oak-tree, 
where  light  and  shadow  made  a 
checkered  round,  Mistress  Dam- 
aris  Sedley  sat  upon  the  earth 
in  a  gown  of  rose -colored  silk. 
Across  her  knee,  under  her  clasped  hands,  lay  a 
light  racket,  for  she  had  strayed  this  way  from 
battledore  and  shuttlecock  and  the  sprightly 
company  of  maids  of  honor  and  gentlemen  pen 
sioners  engaged  thereat.  She  was  a  fair  lady, 
of  a  clear  pallor,  with  a  red  mouth  very  subtly 
charming,  and  dark  eyes  beneath  level  brows. 
Her  eyes  had  depths  on  depths :  to  one  player 
of  battledore  and  shuttlecock  they  were  merely 
large  brown  orbs;  another  might  find  in  them 
worlds  below  worlds;  a  third,  going  deeper, 
might,  Actaeon-like,  surprise  the  bare  soul.  A 
curiously  wrought  net  of  gold  caught  her  dark 
hair  in  its  meshes,  and  pearls  were  in  her  ears,  and 
around  the  white  column  of  her  throat  rising  be- 

3  31 


ftartimr 

tween  the  ruff's  gossamer  walls.  She  fingered 
the  racket,  idly  listening  the  while  for  a  foot-fall 
beyond  her  round  of  trees.  Hearing  it  at  last, 
and  taking  it  for  her  brother's,  she  looked  up  with 
a  proud  and  tender  smile. 

"  Fie  upon  thee  for  a  laggard,  Henry!"  she  be 
gan:  "  I  warrant  thy  Captain  meets  not  his  Dione 
with  so  slow  a  step!"  Then,  seeing  who  stood 
before  her,  she  left  her  seat  between  the  oak 
roots  and  curtsied  low.  "Sir  Mortimer  Feme," 
she  said,  and  rising  to  her  full  height,  met  his 
eyes  with  that  deeper  gaze  of  hers. 

Feme  advanced,  and  bending  his  knee  to  the 
short  turf,  took  and  kissed  her  hand.  "  Fair  and 
sweet  lady,"  he  said,  "I  made  suit  to  your 
brother,  and  he  has  given  me,  his  friend,  this 
happy  chance.  Now  I  make  my  supplication  to 
you,  to  whom  I  would  be  that,  and  more.  All 
this  week  have  I  vainly  sought  for  speech  with 
you  alone.  But  now  these  blessed  trees  hem  us 
round;  there  is  none  to  spy  or  listen — and  here 
is  a  mossy  bank,  fit  throne  for  a  faery  queen. 
Will  you  hear  me  speak?" 

The  maid  of  honor  looked  at  him  with  rose 
bloom  upon  her  cheeks,  and  in  her  eyes,  although 

32 


they  smiled,  a  moisture  as  of  half -sprung  tears. 
"  Is  it  of  Henry?"  she  asked.     "  Ah,  sir,  you  have 
been  so  good  to  him !    He  is  very  dear  to  me. 
I  would  that  I  could  thank  you — " 

As  she  spoke  she  moved  with  him  to  the  green 
bank,  sat  down,  and  clasped  her  hands  about  her 
knees.  The  man  who  on  the  morrow  should 
leave  behind  him  court  and  court  ways,  and  all 
fair  sights  such  as  this,  leaned  against  the  oak 
and  looked  down  upon  her.  When,  after  a  little 
silence,  he  began  to  speak,  it  was  like  a  right 
courtier  of  the  day. 

"Fair  Mistress  Damans, "  he  said,  "your 
brother  is  my  friend,  but  to-day  I  would  speak 
of  my  friend's  friend,  and  that  is  myself,  and 
your  servant,  lady.  To-morrow  I  go  from  this 
garden  of  the  world,  this  no-other  Paradise,  this 
court  where  Dian  reigns,  but  where  Venus  comes 
as  a  guest,  her  boy  in  her  hand.  Where  I  go  I 
know  not,  nor  what  thread  Clotho  is  spinning. 
Strange  dangers  are  to  be  found  in  strange  places, 
and  Jove  and  lightning  are  not  comfortable 
neighbors.  Ulysses  took  moly  in  his  hand  when 
there  came  to  meet  him  Circe's  gentlemen  pen 
sioners,  and  Gyges's  ring  not  only  saved  him  from 

33 


peril,  but  brought  him  wealth  and  great  honor. 
What  silly  mariner  in  my  ship  hath  not  bought 
or  begged  mithridate  or  a  pinch  of  achimenius 
wherewith  to  make  good  his  voyage?  And  shall 
not  I,  who  have  much  more  at  stake,  procure  me 
an  enchantment?" 

The  lady's  fringed  lids  lifted  in  one  swift  up 
ward  glance.  "Your  valor,  sir,  should  prove 
your  surest  charm.  But  there  is  the  new  al 
chemist — 

"  He  cannot  serve  my  need,  hath  not  what  I 
want.  I  want—  He  hesitated  for  a  moment ; 
then  spoke  on  with  a  certain  restrained  im 
petuosity  that  became  him  well:  " There  is  a 
honey-wax  which,  being  glazed  about  the  heart, 
holdeth  within  it,  forever,  a  song  so  sweet  that 
the  chanting  of  the  sirens  matters  not;  there  is 
that  precious  stone  which,  as  the  magnet  draw- 
eth  the  iron,  so  ever  constraineth  Honor,  bidding 
him  mount  every  breach,  climb  higher,  higher, 
higher  yet!  there  is  that  fragrant  leaf  which  oft 
is  fed  with  tears,  and  often  sighing  worn,  yet,  so 
worn,  inspire th  valor  more  heroical  than  that  of 
Achilles!  Such  a  charm  I  seek,  sweet  lady." 

Mistress  Damaris  Sedley,  a  favorite  of  the 
34 


Countess  of  Pembroke,  and  a  court  lady  of  some 
months'  standing,  could  parley  euphuism  with 
the  best,  and  yet  to-day  it  seemed  to  her  that 
plain  English  might  better  serve  the  turn.  How 
ever: 

"Good  gentleman,"  she  answered,  sedately, 
"I  think  that  few  are  the  bees  that  gather  so 
dainty  a  wax,  but  if  they  be  flown  to  Hymettus, 
then  to  Hymettus  might  one  follow  them;  also 
that  precious  stone  may  be  found,  though,  alack ! 
often  enough  a  man  is  so  poor  a  lapidary  that, 
seeing  only  the  covering  of  circumstances,  he 
misses  the  true  sapphire!  and  for  that  fragrant 
leaf,  I  have  heard  of  it  in  my  day — 

"It  is  called  truelove,"  he  said. 

Damaris  kept  to  the  card:  "My  marvel,  sir, 
is  to  hear  you  speak  as  though  you  had  not  the 
charm  you  seem  to  seek.  One  blossom  of  the 
tree  Alpina  is  worth  all  store  of  roses;  one  ruby 
outvalueth  many  pearls;  he  who  hath  already 
the  word  of  magic  needeth  to  buy  no  Venus' s 
image;  and  Sir  Mortimer  Feme,  secure  in  Dione's 
love,  saileth,  methinks,  in  crystal  seas,  with 
slight  danger  from  storm  and  wreck." 

"Secure  in  Dione's  love!"  repeated  Feme. 
35 


"Ah,  lady,  your  shaft  has  gone  wide.  I  have 
sailed,  and  sailed,  and  sailed — ay,  and  in  crystal 
seas — and  have  seen  blooms  fairer  than  the  tree 
Alpina,  and  have  been  in  the  land  of  emeralds 
and  where  pearls  do  grow,  and  yet  have  never 
gathered  the  fragrant  leaf,  that  leaf  of  true  and 
mutual  love.  It  should  grow  with  the  laurel  and 
blend  with  the  bay — ay,  and  be  not  missing  from 
the  cypress  wreath !  But  as  yet  I  have  it  not — 
as  yet  I  have  it  not." 

Damaris  gazed  upon  him  with  brown,  incredu 
lous  eyes,  and  when  she  spoke  her  words  came 
somewhat  breathlessly,  having  quite  outgone 
the  courtly  affectation  of  similes  run  mad. 

"What  mean  you,  sir?  Not  the  love  of  As- 
trophel  for  Stella  is  better  known  than  that  of 
Cleon  for  Dione !  And,  lo !  now  your  own  lines — 
Master  Dyer  showed  them  to  me  but  the  other 
day  copied  into  his  book  of  songs: 

'Nor  in  my  watery  wanderings  am  I  crossed; 
Where  haven's  wanted,  there  I  haven  find, 
Nor  e'er  for  me  is  star  of  guidance  lost — '" 

Her  voice  breaking  a  little,  Feme  made  nearer 
approach  to  the  green  bank  where  she  rested. 

36 


"Do  you  learn  by  heart  my  verses,  lady?"  he 
asked. 

"Ay,"  she  answered,  "I  did  ever  love  sweet 
poetry."  Her  voice  thrilled,  and  she  gazed  past 
him  at  the  blue  heaven  showing  between  the  oak 
leaves.  "  If  prayer  with  every  breath  availeth," 
she  said,  "no  doubt  your  Dione  will  bring  your 
safe  return." 

"Of  whom  do  I  write,  calling  her  Dione?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  know  not.  None  of 
us  at  court  knows.  Master  Dyer  saith — but 
surely  that  one  is  not  worthy — '  She  ceased  to 
speak,  nor  knew  there  had  been  in  her  tone  both 
pain  and  wistfulness.  Presently  she  laughed 
out,  with  the  facile  gayety  that  one  in  her  posi 
tion  must  needs  be  practised  in.  "Ah,  sir,  tell 
me  her  name!  Is  she  of  the  court?" 

He  nodded,  "Yes." 

Damaris  clapped  her  hands.  "What  lovely 
hypocrite  have  we  among  us?  What  Lady  Pure 
Innocence,  wondering  with  the  rest  of  the  world  ? 
— and  all  the  while  Cleon's  latest  sonnet  hot 
against  her  heart!  Is  she  tall,  sir,  or  short?" 

"Of  your  height." 

The  lady  shrugged.  "Oh,  I  like  not  your  half- 
37 


g>ir   Huriimer 

way  people!     And   her  hair  —  but   halt!     We 
know  her  hair  is  dark : 

'Ah,  darkness  loved  beyond  all  light!' 

Her  eyes- 
He  bent  his  head,  moving  yet  nearer  to  her. 
"  Her  eyes — her  eyes  are  wonderful!     Where  got 
you  your  eyes,  Dione — Dione?" 

Crimsoning  deeply,  Damaris  started  up,  the 
racket  escaping  her  clasp,  and  her  hands  going 
out  in  a  gesture  of  dismay  and  anger.  "Sir,— 
sir,"  she  stammered,  "since  you  make  a  mock 
of  me,  I  will  begone.  No,  sir;  let  me  pass! 
Ah,  .  .  .  how  unworthy  of  you!" 

Feme  had  caught  her  by  the  wrists.  "No, 
no !  Dear  lady,  to  whom  I  am  wellnigh  a 
stranger — sweetheart  with  whom  I  have  talked 
scarce  thrice  in  all  my  life — my  Dione,  to  whom 
my  heart  is  as  a  crystal,  to  whom  I  have  written 
all  things !  I  must  speak  now,  now  before  I  go 
this  voyage !  Think  you  it  is  in  me  to  vex  with 
saucy  words,  to  make  a  mock  of  any  gentle 
lady?" 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think,"  she  answered,  in 
a  strange  voice.  "  I  am  too  dull  to  understand." 

38 


"  Think  that  I  tell  you  God's  truth!"  he  cried. 
"  Understand  that—  He  checked  himself,  see 
ing  how  pale  she  was  and  how  flutteringly  came 
her  breath;  then,  trained  as  she  herself  to  in 
stantly  draw  an  airy  veil  between  true  feeling 
and  the  exigency  of  the  moment,  he  became  once 
more  the  simple  courtier.  "  You  read  the  songs 
that  I  make,  sweet  lady,"  he  said,  "  and  now  will 
you  listen  while  I  tell  you  a  story,  a  novelle  ? 
So  I  may  make  you  to  understand." 

As  he  spoke  he  motioned  to  the  mossy  bank 
which  she  had  quitted.  She  raised  her  troubled 
eyes  to  his ;  then,  with  her  scarlet  lip  between  her 
teeth,  she  took  her  seat  again.  For  a  minute 
there  was  silence  in  the  little  grove,  broken  only 
by  the  distant  voices  of  the  players  whose  com 
pany  she  had  forsworn;  then  Feme  began  his 
story: 

"  In  a  fair  grassy  plain,  not  many  leagues  re 
moved  from  the  hill  Parnassus,  a  shepherd  named 
Cleon  sat  upon  a  stone,  piping  to  himself  while 
he  watched  his  sheep,  and  now  and  then  singing 
aloud,  so  that  the  other  shepherds  and  dwellers 
of  the  plain,  and  travellers  through  it,  paused 
to  hear  his  song.  He  sang  not  often,  and  often 

39 


he  laid  his  pipe  aside,  for  he  had  much  to  think 
of,  having  been  upon  the  other  side  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  having  seen  cities  and  camps  and 
courts, — for  indeed  he  was  not  always  shepherd. 
And  now,  because  his  thoughts  left  the  plain  to 
hover  over  the  place  where  danger  is,  to  visit 
strange  coasts  and  Ultima  Thule,  to  strain  ever 
towards  those  islands  of  the  blest  where  goes  the 
man  who  has  endured  to  the  end,  his  notes  when 
he  sang  or  when  he  played  became  warlike,  re 
solved,  speaking  of  death  and  fame  and  stern 
things,  or  of  things  of  public  weal.  .  .  .  But  all 
the  time  the  shepherd  was  a  lonely  man,  be 
cause  his  spirit  was  too  busy  to  find  ease  for 
itself,  and  because,  though  he  had  helped  other 
shepherds  in  the  building  of  their  cottages,  his 
own  heart  had  no  hearthstone  where  he  might 
warm  himself  and  be  content.  Sometimes  as 
he  lay  alone  upon  the  bare  earth,  counting  the 
stars,  he  caught  the  gleam  from  such  a  home 
clear  shining  over  the  plain,  and  he  told  himself 
that  when  he  had  numbered  all  the  stars  like 
sheep  in  a  fold,  then  would  he  turn  and  give  his 
heart  rest  beside  some  lower  light.  ...  So  he 
kept  on  with  his  Phrygian  melodies,  and  they 

40 


brought  him  friends  and  enemies;  but  no  lover 
hastening  over  the  plain  stayed  to  listen,  and 
the  shepherd  was  sorry  for  that,  because  he 
thought  that  the  others,  though  they  heard,  did 
not  fully  understand." 

The  narrator  paused.  The  maid  of  honor's 
hands  were  idle  in  her  lap;  with  level  gaze  she 
sat  in  a  dream.  "  Yet  some  there  be  who  might 
have  understood,"  she  said,  and  scarce  knew  that 
she  had  spoken. 

"  Now  Cleon  had  a  friend  whom  he  loved,  the 
shepherd  Astrophel,  who  sang  more  sweetly  than 
any  in  all  that  plain,  and  Astrophel  would  oft 
urge  Cleon  to  his  dwelling,  which  was  a  fair  one, 
with  shady  groves,  sunny  lawns,  and  springing 
fountains." 

"Ah,  sweet  Sidney,  dear  Penshurst !"  breathed 
the  lady,  softly. 

"Now  upon  a  day — indeed,  'tis  little  more 
than  a  year  ago — Cleon,  returning  to  the  plain 
from  a  far  journey,  found  Astrophel,  who,  taking 
no  denial,  would  have  him  to  those  sunny  lawns 
and  springing  fountains.  There  was  dust  upon 
the  spirit  of  the  shepherd  Cleon:  that  had  hap 
pened  which  had  left  in  his  mouth  the  taste  of 


g>ir    M 

Dead  Sea  fruit ;  almost  was  he  ready  to  break  his 
pipe  across,  and  to  sit  still  forever,  covering  his 
face.  But  Astrophel,  knowing  in  himself  how 
he  would  have  felt  in  his  dearest  part  that  wound 
which  his  friend  had  received,  was  skilled  to  heal, 
and  with  wise  counsel  and  honeyed  words  at  last 
won  Cleon  to  visit  him." 

"  A  year  and  more  ago,"  said  Damaris,  dream- 
ily. 

"  On  such  a  day  as  this,  Cleon  and  Astrophel 
came  to  the  latter' s  home,  where,  since  Astrophel 
was  as  a  magnet-stone  to  draw  unto  him  the 
noblest  of  his  kind,  they  found  a  goodly  gather 
ing  of  the  chief est  of  the  dwellers  in  the  plain. 
Nor  were  lacking  young  shepherdesses,  nymphs, 
and  ladies  as  virtuous  as  they  were  fair,  for  As 
trophel' s  sister  was  such  an  one  as  Astrophel' s 
sister  should  be." 

"  Most  dear,  most  sweet  Countess,"  murmured 
Damaris. 

"Cleon  and  Astrophel  were  made  welcome  by 
this  goodly  company,  after  which  all  addressed 
themselves  to  those  sports  of  that  country  for 
which  the  day  had  been  devised.  But  though 
he  made  merry  with  the  rest,  nor  was  in  any- 

42 


g>tr    il 

thing  behind  them,  Cleon's  heart  was  yet  heavy 
within  him.  .  .  .  Aurora,  fast  flying,  turned  a 
rosy  cheek,  then  the  night  hid  her  path  with  his 
spangled  mantle,  and  all  this  company  of  shep- 
herdish  folk  left  the  gray  lawns  for  Astrophel's 
house,  that  was  lit  with  clear  wax  and  smelled 
sweet  of  roses.  And  after  a  while,  when  there 
had  been  comfit  talk  and  sipping  of  sweet  wine, 
one  sang,  and  another  followed,  while  the  com 
pany  listened,  for  they  were  of  those  who  have 
ears  to  hear.  Colin  sang  of  Rosalind;  Damon, 
of  Myra ;  Astrophel,  of  Stella ;  Cleon,  of — none  of 
these  things.  'Sing  of  love!'  they  cried,  and  he 
sang  of  friendship ; '  Of  the  love  of  a  woman !'  and 
he  sang  to  the  honor  of  a  man." 

"But  in  that  contest  he  won  the  Countess's 
pearl,"  said  the  maid  of  honor,  her  chin  in  her 
hands ;  "  I  knew  (dear  lady !)  what,  being  woman, 
was  her  inmost  thought,  and  in  my  heart  I  did 
applaud  her  choice." 

The  man  bent  his  eyes  upon  her  for  a  moment, 
then  went  on  with  his  story,  but  somewhat 
slowly. 

"  When  it  had  thus  ended  the  day,  that  goodly 
company  betook  itself  to  rest.  But  Cleon  tossed 

43 


upon  his  bed,  and  at  the  dawn,  when  the  birds 
began  to  sing,  he  arose,  dressed  himself,  and  went 
forth  into  the  dewy  gardens  of  that  lovely  place. 
Here  he  walked  up  and  down,  for  his  unrest 
would  not  leave  him,  and  his  heart  hungered  for 
food  it  had  never  tasted.  .  .  .  There  was  a  foun 
tain  springing  from  a  stone  basin,  and  all  around 
were  set  rose-bushes,  seen  dimly  because  of  the 
mist.  Presently,  when  the  light  was  stronger, 
issued  from  the  house  one  of  those  nymphs  whom 
Astrophel's  sister  delighted  to  gather  around  her, 
and  coming  to  the  fountain,  began  to  search 
about  its  rim  for  a  jewel  that  had  been  lost.  She 
moved  like  a  mist  wreath  in  that  misty  place, 
but  Cleon  saw  that  her  eyes  were  dark,  and  her 
lips  a  scarlet  flower,  and  that  grace  was  in  all 
her  motions.  He  remembered  her  name,  and 
that  she  was  loved  of  Astrophel's  sister,  and  how 
sweet  a  lady  she  was  called.  Now  he  watched 
her  weaving  paces  in  the  mist,  and  his  fancy 
worked.  .  .  .  The  mist  lifted,  and  a  sudden  sun 
shine  lit  her  into  splendor;  face,  form,  spirit,  all, 
all  her  being  into  fadeless  splendor — into  fadeless 
splendor,  Dione!" 

The  maid  of  honor  left  once  more  her  grassy 
44 


Sir     iHnri 

throne,  and  turning  from  him,  moved  a  step 
away,  then  with  raised  arms  clasped  her  hands 
behind  her  head.  Her  upturned  face  was  hidden 
from  him,  but  he  saw  her  white  bosom  rise  and 
fall.  He  had  made  pause,  but  now  he  continued 
his  story,  though  with  a  changed  voice. 

"And  Cleon,  going  to  her  with  due  greeting, 
knelt :  she  thought  (sweet  soul !)  to  aid  her  in  her 
search,  but  indeed  he  knelt  to  her,  for  now  he 
knew  that  the  gods  had  given  him  this  also — to 
love  a  woman.  But  because  the  blind  boy's 
shaft,  designed  to  work  inward  ever  deeper  and 
deeper  until  it  reached  the  heart's  core,  did  now 
but  ensanguine  itself,  he  made  no  cry  nor  any 
sign  of  that  sweet  hurt.  He  found  and  gave  the 
nymph  the  jewel  she  had  lost,  and  broke  for  her 
the  red,  red  roses,  and  while  the  birds  did  carol 
he  led  her  through  the  morning  to  the  entrance 
of  the  house.  Up  the  stone  stairs  went  she,  and 
turned  in  splendor  at  the  top.  A  red  rose  fell 
.  .  .  the  sunlight  passed  into  the  house." 

The  voice  of  the  speaker  altered,  came  nearer 
the  ear  of  her  who  stood  with  heaving  bosom, 
with  upturned  face,  with  hands  locked  tight 
upon  the  wonder  of  this  hour. 

45 


g>tr   JBoritmrr 

"  The  rose,  the  rose  has  faded,  Dione,"  said  the 
ardent  voice.  "  Look  how  dead  it  lies  upon  my 
palm !  But  bend  and  breathe  upon  it,  and  it  will 
bloom  again !  Ah,  that  day  at  Penshurst !  when 
I  sought  you  and  they  told  me  you  were  gone — a 
brother  ill  and  calling  for  you — a  guardian,  no 
friend  of  mine,  to  whose  house  I  had  not  access ! 
And  then  the  Queen  must  send  for  me,  and  there 
was  service  to  be  done — service  which  got  me 
my  knighthood.  .  .  .  The  stream  between  us 
widened.  At  first  I  thought  to  span  it  with  a 
letter,  and  then  I  wrote  it  not.  'Twas  all  too 
frail  a  bridge  to  trust  my  hope  upon.  For  what 
should  have  the  paper  said?  /  am  so  near  a 
stranger  to  thee  that  scarce  have  we  spoken  twice 
together — therefore  love  me!  I  am  a  man  who 
hath  done  somewhat  in  the  busy  world,  and  shall, 
God  willing,  labor  once  again,  but  now  a  cloud 
overshadows  me — therefore  love  me!  I  have  no 
wealth  or  pomp  of  place  to  give  thee,  and  I  myself 
am  of  those  whom  God  hath  bound  to  wander — 
therefore  love  me!  I  chanced  upon  thee  beside  a 
fountain  ringed  with  roses,  gray  with  mist;  the  sun 
came  out  and  I  saw  thee,  golden  in  the  golden  light 
— therefore  love  me!  Ah  no !  you  would  have  an- 


swered — I  know  not  what.  Therefore  I  waited, 
for  I  have  at  times  a  strange  patience,  a  willing 
ness  to  let  Fate  guide  me.  Moreover,  I  ever 
thought  to  meet  you,  to  speak  with  you  face  to 
face  again,  but  it  fell  not  so.  Was  I  with  the 
court,  the  country  claimed  you ;  went  I  north  or 
west,  needs  must  I  hear  of  you  a  lovely  star  with 
in  that  galaxy  I  had  left.  Thrice  were  we  in' 
company  together — cursed  spite  that  gave  us 
only  time  for  courtly  greeting,  courtly  part 
ing!" 

The  voice  came  nearer,  came  very  near: 
"Have  I  said  that  I  wrote  not  to  you?  Ay, 
but  I  did,  my  only  dear!  And  as  I  wrote,  from 
the  court,  from  the  camp,  from  my  poor  house 
of  Feme,  I  said:  'This  will  tell  her  how  in  her 
I  reverence  womankind,'  and,  'These  are  flowers 
for  her  coronal — will  she  not  know  it  among  a 
thousand  wreaths?'  and, '  This,  ah,  this,  will  show 
her  how  deeply  now  hath  worked  the  arrow!' and, 
'  Now  she  cannot  choose  but  know — her  soul  will 
hear  my  soul  cry !'  And  that  those  letters  might 
come  to  your  eyes,  I,  following  the  fashion,  sealed 
them  only  with  feigned  names,  altered  circum 
stance.  All  who  ran  might  read,  but  the  heart- 

47 


beat  was  for  your  ear  .  .  .  Dione!  Didst  never 
guess?" 

She  answered  in  a  still  voice  without  moving: 
"  It  may  be  that  my  soul  guessed.  ...  If  it  did  so, 
it  was  frightened  and  hid  its  guess." 

"  I  have  told  you,"  said  the  man.  "  But,  ah, 
what  am  I  more  to  you  now  than  on  that  morn 
at  Penshurst — a  stranger!  I  know  not — even 
you  may  love  another.  .  .  .  But  no,  I  know  that 
you  do  not.  As  I  was  then,  so  am  I  now,  save 
that  I  have  served  the  Queen  again,  and  that 
cloud  I  spoke  of  is  overpast.  I  must  go  forth 
to-morrow  to  seek,  to  find,  to  win,  to  lose — God 
He  knoweth  what!  I  would  go  as  your  knight 
avowed,  your  favor  in  my  helm,  your  kiss  like 
holy  water  on  my  brow.  See,  I  kneel  to  you  for 
some  sign,  some  charm  to  make  my  voyage 
good!" 

Very  slowly  the  rose-clad  maid  of  honor  let  fall 
her  gaze  from  the  evening  skies  to  the  man  be 
fore  her ;  as  slowly  unclasped  her  hands  so  tightly 
locked  behind  her  upraised  head.  Her  eyes  were 
wide  and  filled  with  light,  her  bosom  yet  rose 
and  fell  quickly;  in  all  her  mien  there  was  still 
wonder,  grace  supreme,  a  rich  unfolding  like  the 

48 


&tr    JHnriimrr 

opening  of  a  flower  to  the  bliss  of  understanding. 
Trembling,  her  hand  went  down,  and  resting  on 
his  shoulder,  gave  him  her  accolade.  She  bowed 
herself  towards  him ;  a  knot  of  rosy  velvet,  loos 
ened  from  her  dress,  fell  upon  the  turf  beside  his 
knee.  Feme  caught  up  the  ribbon,  pressed  it 
to  his  lips  and  thrust  it  in  the  breast  of  his  doub 
let.  Rising,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  they 
kissed.  Her  breath  came  pantingly. 

"  Oh,  I  envied  her!"  she  cried.  "  Now  I  know 
that  I  envied  while  I  blessed  her — that  unknown 
Dione!" 

" My  lady  and  my  only  dear!"  he  said.  " Oh, 
Love  is  as  the  sun!  So  the  sunshine  bide,  let 
come  what  will  come!" 

"  I  rest  in  the  sunshine !"  she  said.  "  Oh,  Love 
is  bliss  .  .  .  but  anguish  too !  I  see  the  white  sails 
of  your  ships." 

She  shuddered  in  his  arms.  "All  that  go  re 
turn  not.  Ah,  tell  me  that  you  will  come  back 
to  me!" 

"  That  will  I  do,"  he  answered,  "  an  I  am  a  liv 
ing  man.  If  I  die,  I  shall  but  wait  for  thee.  I 
see  no  parting  of  our  ways." 

One  hour  was  theirs.  Bread  and  wine,  and 
49 


!Hr 

flower  and  fruit,  and  meeting  and  parting  it 
held  for  them.  Hand  in  hand  they  sat  upon  the 
grassy  bank,  and  eyes  met  eyes,  but  speech  came 
not  often  to  their  lips.  They  looked  and  loved, 
against  the  winter  storing  each  moment  with 
sweet  knowledge,  honeyed  assurance.  Brave 
and  fair  were  they  both,  gallant  lovers  in  a  gal 
lant  time,  changing  love-looks  in  a  Queen's  gar 
den,  above  the  silver  Thames.  A  tide  of  ame 
thyst  fell  the  sunset  light;  the  swallows  circled 
overhead;  a  sound  was  heard  of  singing  voices; 
violet  knight  and  rose-colored  maid  of  honor, 
they  came  at  last  to  say  farewell.  That  night 
in  the  lit  Palace,  amid  the  garish  crowd,  they 
might  see  each  other  again,  might  touch  hands, 
might  even  have  slight  speech  together,  but  not 
as  now  could  heart  speak  to  heart.  They  rose 
from  the  green  bank,  and  as  the  sun  set,  as  the 
moon  came  out,  and  the  singing  ceased,  and  the 
world  grew  ashen,  they  said  what  lovers  say  on 
the  brink  of  absence,  and  at  the  last  they  kissed 
good-by. 


Ill 

HEY  were  not  far  north  of  the 
Canary  Islands,  when  the  sky, 
which  for  several  days  had  been 
overcast,  grew  very  threaten- 

ing,  and  the  Mere  Honour,  the 

Cygnet,  the  Marigold,  and  the  Star  made  ready 
to  meet  what  fury  the  Lord  should  be  pleased  to 
loose  upon  them.  It  came,  a  maniac  unchained, 
and  scattered  the  ships.  Darkness  accompanied 
it,  and  the  sea  wrinkled  beneath  its  feet.  The 
ships  went  here  and  went  there ;  throughout  the 
night  they  burned  lights,  and  fired  many  great 
pieces  of  ordnance, — not  to  prevail  against  their 
enemy,  but  to  say  each  to  the  other:  "Here  am 
I,  my  sister !  Go  not  too  far,  come  not  too  near !' ' 
Their  voices  were  as  whispers  to  the  shouting  of 
their  foe ;  beneath  the  rolling  thunders  the  sound 
of  cannon  and  culverin  were  of  less  account  than 
the  grating  of  pebbles  in  a  furious  surge. 

Day  came  and  the  storm  continued,  but  with 


night  the  wind  fell  and  quiet  possessed  the  deep. 
The  sea  subsided,  and  just  before  dawn  the  clouds 
broke,  showing  a  waning  moon.  Below  it  sud 
denly  sprang  out  two  lights,  one  above  the  other, 
and  to  the  Cygnet,  safe,  though  with  her  plu 
mage  sadly  ruffled,  came  the  sound  of  a  gun 
twice  fired. 

The  darkness  faded,  the  gray  light  strength 
ened,  and  showed  to  the  watchers  upon  the  Cyg 
net's  decks  the  ship  in  distress.  It  was  Baldry's 
ship,  the  little  Star.  She  lay  rolling  heavily  in 
the  heavy  sea,  her  masts  gone,  her  boats  swept 
away,  her  poop  low  in  the  water,  her  beak- 
head  high,  sinking  by  the  stern.  Her  lights  yet 
burned,  ghastly  in  the  dawning;  her  people, 
a  black  swarm  upon  her  forecastle,  lay  clinging, 
devouring  with  their  eyes  the  Cygnet's  boats 
coming  for  their  deliverance  across  the  gray 
waste.  Of  the  Mere  Honour  and  the  Marigold 
nothing  was  to  be  seen. 

The  swarm  descended  into  the  boats,  and  all 
pushed  off  from  the  doomed  ship  save  a  single 
craft,  less  crowded  than  the  others,  which  waited, 
its  occupants  gesticulating  angry  dismay,  for  the 
one  man  who  had  not  left  the  Star.  He  stood 


"IT  WAS  BALDRY'S  SHIP,  THE  LITTLE  STAR 


erect  upon  her  bowsprit,  a  dark  figure  outlined 
against  the  livid  sky. 

The  watchers  upon  the  Cygnet,  from  Captain 
to  least  powder-boy,  drew  quick  breath. 

"Ah,  sirs,  he  loved  the  Star  like  a  woman!" 
ejaculated  Thynne  the  master,  and,  "  He  swore 
terribly,  but  he  was  a  mighty  man!"  testified  the 
chief  gunner.  Robin-a-dale  swung  himself  to 
and  fro  in  an  ecstasy  of  terror.  "  He  rides — he 
rides  so  high!"  he  shrilled.  "Higher  than  the 
gallows-tree!  And  he  stands  so  quiet  while  he 
rides!" 

Upon  the  poop  young  Sedley,  standing  beside 
his  Captain,  veiled  his  eyes  with  his  hand ;  then, 
ashamed  of  his  weakness,  gazed  steadfastly  at 
the  lifted  figure.  Arden,  drumming  with  his 
fingers  upon  the  rail,  looked  sidewise  at  Sir  Mor 
timer  Feme. 

"  It  seems  that  your  quarrel  will  have  to  wait 
some  other  meeting-place  than  England,"  he 
said.  "  Perhaps  the  laws  of  that  terra  incognita 
to  which  he  goes  forbid  the  duello." 

"  He  will  not  leave  our  company  yet  awhile," 
answered  Feme,  with  calmness.  "As  I 
thought—" 

53 


The  dark  figure  had  dropped  from  the  bow 
sprit  of  the  Star  into  the  waiting  boat,  which  at 
once  put  after  its  fellows.  Behind  the  deserted 
ship  suddenly  streamed  out  a  red  banner  of  the 
dawn;  stark  and  black  against  the  color,  lonely 
in  the  path  that  must  be  trod,  she  awaited  her 
end.  To  the  seafaring  men  who  watched  her 
she  was  as  human  as  themselves — a  ship  dying 
alone. 

"  All  that  a  man  hath  will  he  give  for  his  life," 
quoth  Arden,  somewhat  grimly,  for  he  was  no 
lover  of  Baldry,  and  he  was  now  ashamed  of  the 
emotion  he  had  shown. 

"To  go  down  with  her,"  said  Feme,  slowly, — 
"that  had  been  the  act  of  a  madman.  And  if 
to  live  is  a  thing  less  fine  than  would  have  been 
that  madness,  yet — " 

He  broke  off,  and  turning  from  the  Star,  now 
very  near  her  death,  swept  with  his  gaze  the  bil 
lowing  ocean.  "  I  would  we  might  see  the  Mere 
Honour  and  the  Marigold,"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"  What  is  lost  is  lost,  and  Captain  Baldry  as  well 
as  we  must  stand  this  crippling  of  our  enterprise. 
But  the  Mere  Honour  and  the  Marigold  are  of 
more  account  than  the  Star'' 

54 


&ir   Mortimer 

Out  of  a  cluster  of  mariners  and  landsmen 
rose  Robin-a-dale's  shrill  cry :  "  She's  going  down, 
down,  down!  Oh,  the  white  figurehead  looks  no 
more  into  the  sea — it  turns  its  face  to  the  sky! 
Down,  down,  the  Star  has  gone  down!" 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  decks  of  the  Cygnet  and 
upon  the  overfreighted  boats  laboring  towards 
her.  Overhead  mast  and  spar  creaked  and  the 
low  wind  sang  in  the  rigging,  but  the  spirit  of 
man  was  awed  within  him.  A  ship  was  lost,  and 
the  sea  was  lonely  beneath  the  crimson  dawn. 
Where  were  the  Mere  Honour  and  the  Marigold, 
and  was  all  their  adventure  but  a  mirage  and  a 
cheat?  Far  away  was  home,  and  far  away  the 
Indies,  and  the  Cygnet  was  a  little  feather  tossed 
between  red  sky  and  heaving  ocean. 

The  thought  did  not  last.  As  the  crowded 
boats  drew  alongside,  up  sprang  the  sun,  cheer 
ing  and  warming,  and  at  the  Captain's  command 
the  musicians  of  the  Cygnet  began  to  play,  as  at 
the  setting  of  the  watch,  a  psalm  of  thanksgiv 
ing.  Sailors  and  volunteers,  there  had  been  but 
sixty  men  aboard  the  Star,  and  all  were  safe. 
As  they  clambered  over  the  side,  a  cheer  went 
up  from  their  comrades  of  the  Cygnet. 

55 


The  boat  that  carried  Baldry  came  last,  and 
that  adventurer  was  the  latest  to  set  foot  upon 
the  Cygnet's  deck.  Her  Captain  met  him  with 
bared  head  and  outstretched  hand. 

"We  grieve  with  you,  sir,  for  the  loss  of  the  . 
Star"  he  said,  gravely  and  courteously.     "We 
thank  God  that  no  brave  man  went  down  with 
her.     The  Cygnet  gives  you  welcome,  sir." 

The  man  to  whom  he  spoke  ignored  alike 
words  and  extended  hand.  A  towering  figure, 
breathing  bitter  anger  at  this  spite  of  Fortune, 
he  turned  where  he  stood  and  gazed  upon  the 
ocean  that  had  swallowed  up  his  ship.  Un 
couth  of  nature,  given  to  boasting,  a  foster-child 
of  Violence  and  Envy,  he  yet  had  qualities  which 
had  borne  him  upward  and  onward  from  mean 
beginnings  to  where  on  yesterday  he  had  stood, 
owner  and  Captain  of  the  Star,  leader  of  picked 
men,  sea-dog  and  adventurer  as  famed  for  dare 
devil  courage  and  boundless  endurance  as  for  his 
braggadocio  vein  and  sullen  temper.  Now  the 
Star  that  he  had  loved  was  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea ;  his  men,  a  handful  beside  the  Cygnet's  force, 
must  give  obedience  to  her  officers ;  and  he  him 
self, — what  was  he  more  than  a  volunteer  aboard 

56 


his  enemy's  ship?  Captain  Robert  Baldry, 
grinding  his  teeth,  found  the  situation  intoler 
able. 

Sir  Mortimer  Feme,  biting  his  lip  in  a  sudden 
revulsion  of  feeling,  was  of  much  the  same  opin 
ion.  But  that  he  would  follow  after  courtesy 
was  as  certain  as  that  Baldry  would  pursue  his 
own  will  and  impulse.  Therefore  he  spoke  again, 
though  scarce  as  cordially  as  before: 

"  We  will  shape  our  course  for  Teneriffe,  where 
(I  pray  to  God)  we  may  find  the  Mere  Honour 
and  the  Marigold.  If  it  please  Captain  Baldry 
to  then  remove  into  the  Mere  Honour,  I  make 
no  doubt  that  the  Admiral  will  welcome  so  nota 
ble  a  recruit.  In  the  mean  time  your  men  shall 
be  cared  for,  and  you  yourself  will  command 
me,  sir,  in  all  things  that  concern  your  wel 
fare." 

Baldry  shot  him  a  look.  "  I  am  no  maker  of 
pretty  speeches,"  he  said.  "You  have  me  in 
irons.  Pray  you,  show  me  some  dungeon  and 
give  me  leave  to  be  alone." 

Young  Sedley,  hotly  indignant,  muttered 
something,  that  was  echoed  by  the  little  throng 
of  gentlemen  adventurers  sailing  with  Sir  Morti- 

57 


mer  Feme.  Arden,  leaning  against  the  mast, 
coolly  observant  of  all,  began  to  whistle, 

'"Of  honey  and  of  gall  in  love  there  is  store: 
The  honey  is  much,  but  the  gall  is  more,"' 

thereby  bringing  upon  himself  one  of  Baldry's 
black  glances. 

"Lieutenant  Sedley,"  ordered  Feme,  sharply, 
"  you  will  lodge  this  gentleman  in  the  cabin  next 
mine  own,  seeing  that  he  hath  all  needful  enter 
tainment.  Sir,  I  do  expect  your  company  at 
dinner." 

He  bowed,  then  stood  at  his  full  height,  while 
Baldry  sufficiently  bethought  himself  to  in  some 
sort  return  the  salute,  even  to  give  grudging, 
half  -  insolent  acknowledgment  of  the  debt  he 
owed  the  Cygnet.  At  last  he  went  below — to  re 
fuse  the  bread  and  meat,  but  to  drink  deep  of  the 
aqua  vita  which  Sedley  stiffly  offered;  then  to 
lock  himself  in  his  cabin,  bite  his  nails  with  rage, 
and  finally,  when  he  had  stared  at  the  sea  for  a 
long  time,  to  sink  his  head  into  his  hands  and 
weep  a  man's  tears  for  irrevocable  loss. 

Of  his  fellow  adventurers  whom  he  left  upon 
the  poop,  only  Mortimer  Feme  held  his  tongue 

58 


9ir    iliiirtimrr 

from  blame  of  his  insupportable  temper,  or  re 
frained  from  stories  of  the  Star's  exploits.  The 
Cygnet  was  under  way,  the  wind  favorable,  her 
white  and  swelling  canvas  like  clouds  against  a 
bright-blue  sky,  the  dolphins  playing  about  her 
rushing  prow,  where  a  golden  lady  forever  kept 
her  eyes  upon  the  deep.  In  the  wind,  timber 
and  cordage  creaked  and  sang,  while  from  waist 
and  main-deck  came  a  cheerful  sound  of  men  at 
work  repairing  what  damage  the  storm  had 
wrought.  Thynne  the  master  gave  orders  in  his 
rumbling  bass,  then  the  drum  beat  for  morning 
service,  and,  after  the  godly  fashion  of  the  time, 
there  poured  from  the  forecastle,  to  worship 
the  Lord,  mariners  and  landsmen,  gunners, 
harquebusiers,  crossbow  and  pike  men,  cabin 
and  powder  boys,  cook,  chirurgeon,  and  carpenter 
— all  the  varied  force  of  that  floating  castle  des 
tined  to  be  dashed  like  a  battering-ram  against 
the  power  of  Spain.  The  Captain  of  them  all, 
with  his  gentlemen  and  officers  about  him, 
paused  a  moment  before  moving  to  his  accus 
tomed  place,  and  looked  upon  his  ship  from 
stem  to  stern,  from  the  thronged  decks  to  the 
topmost  pennant  flaunting  the  sunshine.  He 

59 


fllmritmer 

found  it  good,  and  the  salt  of  life  was  strong  in 
his  nostrils.  Inwardly  he  prayed  for  the  safety 
of  the  Mere  Honour  and  the  Marigold,  but  that 
picture  of  the  sinking  Star  he  dismissed  as  far  as 
might  be  from  his  mind.  She  had  been  but  a 
small  ship — notorious  indeed  for  fights  against 
great  odds,  for  sheer  bravado  and  hairbreadth 
escapes,  but  still  a  small  ship,  and  not  to  be  com 
pared  with  the  Cygnet.  No  life  had  been  for 
feited,  and  Captain  Robert  Baldry  must  even 
digest  as  best  he  might  his  private  loss  and  dis 
comfiture.  If,  as  he  walked  to  his  place  of  hon 
or,  and  as  he  stood  with  English  gentlemen 
about  him,  with  English  sailors  and  soldiers 
ranged  before  him  giving  thanks  for  deliverance 
from  danger,  the  Captain  of  the  Cygnet  held  too 
high  his  head ;  if  he  at  that  moment  looked  upon 
his  life  with  too  conscious  a  pride,  knew  too  well 
the  difference  between  himself,  steadfast  helms 
man  of  all  his  being,  and  that  untutored  nature 
which  drove  another  from  rock  to  shoal,  from 
shoal  to  quicksand — yet  that  knowledge,  detest 
able  to  all  the  gods,  dragged  at  his  soul  but  for 
a  moment.  He  bent  his  head  and  prayed  for 
the  missing  ships,  and  most  heartily  for  John 

60  4 


Nevil,  his  Admiral,  whom  he  loved;  then  for 
Damans  Sedley  that  she  be  kept  in  health  and 
joyousness  of  mind ;  and  lastly,  believing  that  he 
but  plead  for  the  success  of  an  English  expedi 
tion  against  Spain  and  Antichrist,  he  prayed  for 
gold  and  power,  a  sovereign's  gratitude  and 
man's  acclaim. 

Three  days  later  they  came  to  TenerifTe,  and 
to  their  great  rejoicing  found  there  the  Mere 
Honour  and  the  ^Marigold.  The  Admiral  sig 
nalled  a  council;  and  Feme,  taking  with  him 
Giles  Arden,  Sedley,  and  the  Captain  of  the  sunk 
en  Star,  went  aboard  the  Mere  Honour,  where  he 
was  shortly  joined  by  Baptist  Man  wood  from 
the  Marigold,  with  his  lieutenants  Wynch  and 
Paget.  In  his  state-cabin,  when  he  had  given 
his  Captains  welcome,  the  Admiral  sat  at  table 
with  his  wine  before  him  and  heard  how  had 
fared  the  Cygnet  and  the  Marigold,  then  listened 
to  Baldry's  curt  recital  of  the  Star's  ill  destinies. 
The  story  ended,  he  gave  his  meed  of  grave  sym 
pathy  to  the  man  whose  whole  estate  had  been 
that  sunken  ship.  Baldry  sat  silent,  fingering, 
as  was  his  continual  trick,  the  hilt  of  his  great 
Andrew  Ferrara.  But  when  the  Admiral,  with 
*  61 


his  slow,  deliberate  courtesy,  went  on  to  propose 
that  for  this  adventure  Captain  Baldry  cast  his 
lot  with  the  Mere  Honour,  he  listened,  then  gave 
unexpected  check. 

"  I'  faith,  his  berth  upon  the  Cygnet  liked  him 
well  enough,  and  though  he  thanked  the  Admiral, 
what  reason  for  changing  it?  In  fine,  he  should 
not  budge,  unless,  indeed,  Sir  Mortimer  Feme — " 
He  turned  himself  squarely  so  as  to  face  the 
Captain  of  the  Cygnet. 

The  latter,  in  the  instant  that  passed  before  he 
made  any  answer  to  Baldry's  challenging  look, 
saw  once  again  that  vision  of  the  other  morning 
— the  flare  of  dawn,  and  high  against  it  one  des 
perate  figure,  a  man  just  balancing  if  to  keep  his 
life  or  no,  seeing  that  for  the  thing  he  loved  there 
was  no  rescue.  Say  that  the  doomed  ship  had 
been  the  Cygnet — would  Mortimer  Feme  have  so 
cheapened  grief,  have  grown  so  bitter,  be  so  ready 
to  eat  his  heart  out  with  envy  and  despite? 
Perhaps  not;  and  yet,  who  knew?  The  Cygnet 
was  there,  visible  through  the  port  windows,  lift 
ing  against  serenest  skies  her  proud  bulk,  her 
castellated  poop  and  forecastle,  her  tall  masts 
and  streaming  pennants.  The  Star  was  down  be- 

62 


0tr   Mortimer 

low,  a  hundred  leagues  from  any  lover,  and  the 
sea  was  deep  upon  herf  and  her  guns  were  silent 
and  her  decks  untrodden.  ...  He  was  wearied  of 
Baldry's  company,  impatient  of  his  mad  temper 
and  peasant  breeding,  very  sure  that  he  chose, 
open-eyed,  to  torment  himself  from  Teneriffe  to 
America  with  the  sight  of  a  prospering  foe  merely 
that  that  foe  might  feel  a  nettle  in  his  unwilling 
grasp.  Yet,  so  challenged,  when  had  passed 
that  moment,  he  met  Baldry's  gloomy  eyes,  and 
again  assured  the  adventurer  that  the  presence 
of  so  brave  a  man  and  redoubted  fighter  could 
but  do  honor  to  the  Cygnet. 

His  words  were  all  that  courtesy  could  desire : 
if  tone  and  manner  were  of  the  coldest,  yet  Bal- 
dry,  not  being  sensitive,  and  having  gained  his 
point,  could  afford  to  let  that  pass.  He  turned 
to  the  Admiral  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  You  see,  sir,  we  are  yoke-brothers — Sir  Mor 
timer  Feme  and  I, — though  whether  God  or  the 
devil  hath  joined  us !  ...  Well,  the  two  of  us  may 
send  some  Spanish  souls  to  hell!" 

With  his  yoke-brother,  Arden,  and  Sedley  he 
returned  to  the  Cygnet,  and  that  evening  at  sup 
per,  having  drunken  much  sack,  began  to  loudly 

63 


vaunt  the  deeds  of  the  drowned  Star,  magnifying 
her  into  a  being  sentient  and  heroical,  and  darkly 
wishing  that  the  luck  of  the  expedition  be  not 
gone  with  her  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

"Luck!"  exclaimed  Feme  at  last,  haughtily. 
"  I  hate  the  word.  Your  luck — my  luck — the 
luck  of  this  our  enterprise!  It  is  a  craven  word, 
overmuch  upon  the  lips  of  Christian  gentle 
men." 

11 1  was  not  born  a  gentleman,"  said  Baldry, 
playing  with  his  knife.  "You  know  that,  Sir 
Mortimer  Feme." 

"  I'll  swear  you've  taken  out  no  patent  since," 
muttered  Arden,  whereat  his  neighbor  laughed 
aloud,  and  Baldry,  pushing  back  his  stool,  glared 
at  each  in  turn. 

"  I  know  that  a  man's  will,  and  not  a  college 
of  heralds,  makes  him  what  he  is,"  said  Feme. 
"I  have  known  churls  in  honorable  houses  and 
true  knights  in  the  common  camp.  And  I  sub 
mit  not  my  destinies  to  that  gamester  Luck:  as 
I  deserve  and  as  God  wills,  so  run  my  race!" 

"  Oh,  every  man  of  us  knows  our  Captain's  de 
serving!"  quoth  Baldry.  "Well,  gentlemen,  on 
that  occasion  of  which  I  was  speaking,  the  devil's 

64 


own  luck  being  with  me,  I  sunk  both  the 
carrack  and  the  galley,  and  headed  the  Star  for 
the  castle  of  Paria." 

On  went  the  wondrous  tale,  with  no  further 
interruption  from  Sir  Mortimer,  wrho  sat  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  playing  the  part  of  host  to 
Captain  Robert  Baldry,  listening  with  cold  pa 
tience  to  the  adventurer's  rhodomontade.  When 
spurred  by  wine  there  was  wont  to  awaken  in 
Baldry  a  certain  mordant  humor,  a  rough  wit, 
making  straight  for  the  mark  and  clanging  harsh 
ly  against  an  adversary's  shield,  a  lurid  fancy 
dully  illuminating  the  subject  he  had  in  hand. 
The  wild  story  that  he  was  telling  caught  the 
attention  of  the  more  thoughtless  sort  at  table ; 
they  leaned  forward,  encouraging  him  from  flight 
to  flight,  laughing  at  each  sally  of  boatswain's 
wit,  ejaculating  admiration  when  the  Star  and 
her  Captain  fairly  left  the  realm  of  the  natural. 
One  splendid  lie  followed  another,  until  Baldry 
was  caught  by  his  own  words,  and  saw  himself 
thus,  and  thus,  and  thus! — a  sea-dog  confessed, 
a  gatherer  of  riches,  a  dealer  of  death  from  the 
poop  of  the  Star!  In  his  mind's  eye  the  lost 
bark  swelled  to  a  phantom  ship,  gigantic,  terri- 

65 


ble,  wrapped  with  the  mist  of  the  sea ;  while  he 
himself — ah!  he  himself — 

"He  struck  the  mainmast  with  his  hand, 
The  foremast  with  his  knee — " 

All  that  he  had  been  and  all  that  he  had  done,  if 
man  were  only  something  more  than  man,  if 
devil's  luck  and  devil's  power  would  come  to  his 
whistle,  if  the  seed  of  his  nature  could  defy  the 
iron  stricture  of  the  flesh,  reaching  its  height, 
shooting  up  into  a  terrible  upas-tree— so  for  the 
moment  Baldry  saw  himself.  Into  his  voice 
came  a  deep  and  sonorous  note,  his  black  eyes 
glowed ;  he  began  to  gesture  with  his  hand,  state 
ly  as  a  Spaniard.  And  then,  chancing  to  glance 
towards  the  head  of  the  board,  he  met  the  eyes 
of  the  man  who  sat  there,  his  Captain  now, 
whom  he  must  follow !  What  might  he  read  in 
their  depths?  Half-scornful  amusement,  per 
haps,  and  the  contempt  of  the  man  who  has  done 
what  man  may  do  for  the  yoke-fellow  who  ha 
bitually  made  claim  to  supernatural  prowess ;  in 
addition  to  the  scholar's  condemnation  of  bla 
tant  ignorance,  the  courtier's  dislike  of  unman- 
nerliness,  the  soldier's  scorn  of  unproved  deeds, 

66 


g>ir    4H0rt 

athwart  all  the  philosophic  smile !  Baldry ,  flush 
ing  darkly,  hated  with  all  his  wild  might,  for 
that  he  chose  to  hate,  the  man  who  sat  so  quietly 
there,  who  held  with  so  much  ease  the  knowledge 
that  by  right  of  much  beside  his  commission  he 
was  leader  of  every  man  within  those  floating 
walls.  The  Captain  of  the  Star  struck  the  table 
with  his  hand. 

"  Ah,  I  had  good  help  that  time!  My  brother 
sailed  with  me — Thomas  Baldry,  that  was  mas 
ter  of  the  Speedwell  that  went  down  at  Fayal  in 
the  Azores.  .  .  .  Didst  ever  see  a  ghost,  Sir  Morti 
mer  Feme?" 

"No,"  answered  Feme,  curtly. 

"Then  the  dead  come  not  to  haunt  us,"  said 
Baldry.  "  I  would  have  sworn  a  many  had 
passed  before  your  eyes.  Now  had  I  been  Thom 
as  Baldry  I  would  have  won  back." 

"That  also?"  demanded  Sir  Mortimer.  His 
tone  was  of  simple  wonder,  and  there  went  round 
the  board  a  laugh  for  Baldry 's  boasting.  That 
adventurer  started  to  his  feet,  his  eyes,  that  were 
black,  deep-set,  and  very  bright,  fixed  upon  Feme. 

"  That  also,"  he  answered.  "  An  I  should  die 
before  our  swords  cross,  that  also!" 

67 


He  turned  and  left  the  cabin. 

"Now,"  said  Arden,  as  his  heavy  footsteps 
died  away,  "I  had  rather  gather  snow  for  the 
Grand  Turk  than  rubies  with  some  I  wot  of!" 

Henry  Sedley,  a  hot  red  in  his  cheek,  and  his 
dark  hair  thrown  back,  turned  from  staring 
after  the  retreating  figure.  "  If  I  send  him  my 
cartel,  Sir  Mortimer,  wilt  put  me  in  irons?" 

" Ay,  that  will  I,"  said  Feme,  calmly.  "Word 
and  deed  he  but  doth  after  his  kind.  Well,  let 
him  go.  For  his  words,  that  a  man's  deeds  do 
haunt  him,  rising  like  shadows  across  his  path,  I 
believe  full  well — but  for  me  the  master  of  the 
Speedwell  makes  no  stirring.  .  .  .  Take  thy  lute, 
Henry  Sedley,  and  sing  to  us,  giving  honey 
after  gall!  Sing  to  me  of  other  things  than 
war." 

As  he  spoke  he  moved  to  the  stern  windows, 
took  his  seat  upon  the  bench  beneath,  and  lean 
ing  on  his  arm,  looked  out  upon  the  low  red  sun 
and  the  darkening  ocean. 

"'Ring  out  your  bells,  let  mourning  shows  be  spread: 
For  love  is  dead: 
Love  is  dead,  infected 
With  plague  of  deep  disdain — '" 
68 


sang  Sedley  with  throbbing  sweetness,  depth  of 
melancholy  passion.  The  listener's  spirit  left 
its  chafing,  left  pride  and  disdain,  and  drifted  on 
that  melodious  tide  to  far  heavens. 

"'Weep,  neighbors,  weep;  do  you  not  hear  it  said 

That  Love  is  dead? 
His  death-bed  peacock's  folly; 

His  winding  sheet  is  shame; 
His  will  false-seeming  wholly; 

His  sole  executor  blame!'" 

rang  Sedley 's  splendid  voice.  The  song  ended; 
the  sun  sank ;  on  came  the  invader  night.  Feme 
took  the  lute  and  slowly  swept  its  strings. 

"  How  much,  how  little  of  it  all  is  peacock's 
folly,"  he  said;  "who  knoweth?  Life  and  Liv 
ing,  Love  and  Hate,  and  Honor  the  bubble,  and 
Shame  the  Nessus-robe,  and  Death,  which,  when 
all's  done,  may  have  no  answer  to  the  riddle! — 
Where  is  the  fixed  star,  and  who  knoweth  depth 
from  shallow,  or  himself,  or  anything?"  He 
struck  the  lute  again,  drawing  from  it  a  lingering 
and  mournful  note. 

"  Now  out  upon  the  man  who  brought  mel 
ancholy  into  fashion!"  ejaculated  Arden.  "In 
danger  the  blithest  soul  alive,  when  all  is  well 


you  do  ask  yourself  too  many  questions!  I'll 
go  companion  with  Robert  Baldry,  who  keeps 
no  fashions  save  of  Mars' s  devising." 

"  Why,  I  am  not  sad,"  said  Feme,  rousing  him 
self.  "  Come,  I'll  dice  with  thee  for  fifty  ducats 
and  a  gold  jewel — to  be  paid  from  the  first  ship 
we  take!" 

On  sailed  the  ships  through  tranquil  seas,  until 
many  days  had  fallen  into  their  wake,  slipping 
by  them  like  painted  clouds  of  floating  seaweed 
or  silver-finned  vagrants  of  the  deep.  Great 
calms  brooded  upon  the  water,  and  the  sails  fell 
idle,  flag  and  pennant  drooped;  then  the  trade- 
wind  blew,  and  the  white  ships  drove  on.  They 
drove  into  the  blue  distance,  towards  unknown 
ports — known  only  in  that  they  would  surely 
prove  themselves  Ports  of  All  Peril.  At  night 
the  sea  burned ;  a  field  of  gold  it  ran  to  horizons 
jewelled  with  richer  stars  than  shone  at  home. 
Above  them,  in  the  vault  of  heaven,  hung  the 
Great  Ship,  blazed  the  Southern  Cross.  Every 
hour  saw  the  flight  of  meteors,  and  their  trains, 
golden  argosies  of  the  sky,  faded  slowly  from  the 
dark-blue  depths.  When  the  moon  arose  she 
was  ringed  with  colors,  but  the  men  who  gazed 

70 


upon  her  said  not,  "  Every  hue  of  the  rainbow  is 
there."  They  said,  "  See  the  red  gold,  the  pearls 
and  the  emeralds!"  The  night  died  suddenly 
and  the  day  was  upon  them,  an  aureate  god, 
lavish  of  splendor.  They  hailed  him  with  music ; 
as  they  pulled  and  hauled,  the  seamen  sang. 
Other  winds  than  those  of  heaven  drove  them 
on.  High  purpose,  love  of  country,  religious 
ecstasy,  chivalrous  devotion,  greed  of  gain,  lust 
of  aggrandizement,  lust  of  power,  mad  ambitions, 
ruthless  intents — by  how  strong  a  current,  here 
crystal  clear,  there  thick  and  defiled,  were  they 
swrept  towards  their  appointed  haven !  In  cruelty 
and  lust,  in  the  faith  of  little  children  and  the 
courage  of  old  demi-gods,  they  went  like  homing 
pigeons ;  and  not  a  soul,  from  him  who  gave  com 
mand  to  him  who,  far  aloft,  looked  out  upon  the 
deep,  recked  or  cared  that  another  age  would 
call  him  pirate  or  corsair,  raising  brow  and 
shoulder  over  the  morality  of  his  deeds. 

In  the  realms  which  they  were  entering, 
Truth,  shattered  into  a  thousand  gleaming  frag 
ments,  might  be  held  in  part,  but  never  wholly. 
There  man's  quarry  was  the  false  Florimel,  and 
she  lured  him  on  and  he  saw  with  magically 


anointed  eyes.  Too  suddenly  awakened,  the 
imagination  of  the  time  was  reeling;  its  sap  ran 
too  fast ;  wonders  of  the  outer,  revelations  of  the 
inner,  universe  crowded  too  swiftly;  the  heady 
wine  made  now  gods,  now  fools  of  men.  The 
white  light  was  not  for  the  heirs  of  that  age, 
nor  yet  the  golden  mean.  Wonders  happened, 
that  they  knew,  and  so  like  children  they  looked 
for  strange  chances.  There  was  no  miracle  at 
which  their  faith  would  balk,  no  illusion  whose 
cobweb  tissue  they  cared  to  tear  away.  Give 
but  a  grain  whereon  to  build,  a  phenomenon  be 
fore  which  started  back,  amazed  and  daunted, 
the  knowledge  of  the  age,  and  forthwith  a  mighty 
imagination  leaped  upon  it,  claimed  it  for  its 
own.  There  had  been  but  a  grain  of  sand,  an 
inexplicable  fact — lo !  now,  a  rounded  pearl  shot 
with  all  the  hues  of  the  morning,  a  miracle  of 
grace  or  an  evidence  of  diabolic  power,  to  doubt 
which  was  heresy ! 

Adventurers  to  the  Spanish  Main  believed  in 
devil-haunted  seas,  in  flying  islands,  in  a  nation 
of  men  whose  eyes  were  set  in  their  shoulders, 
and  of  women  who  cut  off  the  right  breast  and 
slew  every  male  child.  They  believed  in  a  hid- 

72 


den  city,  from  end  to  end  a  three  days'  march, 
where  gold-dust  thickened  the  air,  and  an  Inca 
drank  with  his  nobles  in  a  garden  whose  plants 
waved  not  in  the  wind,  whose  flowers  drooped 
not,  whose  birds  never  stirred  upon  the  bough, 
for  all  alike  were  made  of  gold.  They  believed 
in  a  fair  fountain,  hard  indeed  to  find,  but  of  such 
efficacy  that  the  graybeard  who  dipped  in  its 
shining  waters  stepped  forth  a  youth  upon  ever- 
vernal  banks. 

So  with  these  who  like  an  arrow  now  clave  the 
blue  to  the  point  of  danger.  In  this  strange  half 
of  the  world  where  nature's  juggling  hand  dealt 
now  in  supernal  beauty,  now  in  horror  without 
a  name,  how  might  they,  puppets  of  their  age, 
hold  an  even  balance,  know  the  mirage,  know  the 
truth?  Inextricably  mingled  were  the  threads 
of  their  own  being,  and  none  could  tell  warp 
from  woof,  or  guess  the  pattern  that  was  weav 
ing  or  stay  the  flying  shuttle.  What  if  upon 
the  material  scroll  unrolling  before  them  God 
had  chosen  to  write  strange  characters?  Was 
not  the  parchment  His,  and  how  might  man 
question  that  moving  finger? 

One  day  they  discerned  an  island,  fair  and 
73 


0tr   Ularttmer 

clear  against  the  horizon  —  undoubtedly  there, 
although  no  chart  made  mention  of  it.  All  saw 
the  island;  but  when  one  man  cried  out  at  the 
amazing  height  of  its  snowy  peak  another  laugh 
ed  him  to  scorn,  declaring  the  peak  a  cloud,  and 
spoke  of  sand-dunes  topped  with  low  bushes. 
A  third  clamored  of  a  fair  white  city,  an  evident 
harbor,  and  the  masts  of  great  ships;  a  fourth, 
every  whit  as  positive,  stood  out  for  unbroken 
forests  and  surf  upon  a  lonely  reef.  While  they 
contended,  the  island  vanished.  Then  they 
knew  that  they  had  seen  St.  Brandon's  Isle, 
and  in  his  prayer  at  the  setting  of  the  watch 
the  chaplain  made  mention  of  the  matter.  On 
a  night  when  all  the  sea  was  phosphorescent, 
Thynne  the  master  saw  in  the  wake  of  the  Cygnet 
a  horned  spirit,  very  black  and  ugly,  leaping 
from  one  fiery  ripple  to  another,  but  when  he 
called  on  Christ's  name,  rushing  madly  away, 
full  tilt  into  the  setting  moon.  Again,  Feme  and 
young  Sedley,  pacing  the  poop  beneath  a  sky 
of  starry  splendor,  and  falling  silent  after  talk 
that  had  travelled  from  Petrarch  and  Ariosto 
to  that  Faerie  Queene  which  Edmund  Spenser 
was  writing,  heard  a  faint  sweet  singing  far 

74 


across  the  deep.  "Hark!"  breathed  Sedley. 
"The  strange  sweet  sound.  .  .  .  Surely  mer- 
maiden  singing!" 

"I  know  not,"  replied  Feme,  his  hands  upon 
the  railing.  "  Perchance  'tis  so.  They  say  they 
are  fair  women.  .  .  .  The  sound  is  gone.  I  would 
I  might  hear  thy  sister  singing." 

"  How  silver  and  how  solemn  is  the  sky!"  said 
his  companion.  "  Perhaps  it  was  the  echo  of 
some  heavenly  strain.  There  goeth  a  great  star! 
They  say  that  the  fall  of  such  stars  is  portentous, 
speaking  to  men  of  doom." 

His  Captain  laughed.  "Hast  added  so  much 
astrology  to  thy  store  of  learning?  Now,  good- 
wife  Atropos  may  cut  her  thread  by  the  light  of  a 
comet ;  but  when  the  comet  has  flared  away  and 
the  shearer  returned  to  her  place,  then  in  the  deep 
darkness,  where  even  the  stars  shine  not,  the 
shorn  thread  may  feel  God's  touch,  may  know  it 
hath  yet  its  uses.  .  .  .  How  all  the  sea  grows  phos 
phorescent!  and  the  stars  do  fall  so  thickly  that 
there  may  be  men  a-dying.  Well,  before  long 
there  will  be  other  giving  of  swords  to  Death!" 

In  the  silence  which  followed  his  words,  lightly 
spoken  as  they  were,  young  Sedley,  who  indeed 

75 


owed  very  much  to  Mortimer  Feme,  laid  impul 
sively  his  hand  upon  his  Captain's  hand.  "  On 
the  night  you  give  your  sword  to  Death,  how 
great  a  star  shall  fall!  An  I  go  first,  I  shall 
know  when  the  trumpet  sounds  for  your  com 
ing." 

"  When  I  give  my  sword  to  Death,"  said  Feme, 
absently.  "Ay,  lad,  when  I  give  my  sword  to 
Death.  .  .  .  There  again,  do  you  not  hear  the  sing 
ing?  It  is  the  wind,  I  think,  and  not  the  people 
of  the  sea.  It  hath  a  mocking  sound.  .  .  .  When 
I  give  my  sword  to  Death." 

From  the  tops  above  them  fell  a  voice  of 
Stentor.  "  Sail  ho !  sail  ho !"  Upon  which  they 
gave  for  the  remainder  of  the  tropic  night  small 
attention  to  aught  but  warlike  matters.  With 
the  morning  the  three  ships  counted  to  the  gen 
eral  gain  the  downright  sinking  of  a  small  fleet 
from  Hispaniola,  and  the  taking  therefrom 
porcelain,  many  bales  of  rich  silk  and  rosaries  of 
gold  beads,  a  balass-ruby,  twenty  wedges  of  sil 
ver,  and  a  chest  well  lined  with  ducats. 

With  this  treasure  to  hark  them  forward,  on 
and  on  sailed  the  ships ;  and  now  land  birds  came 
to  them,  and  now  they  passed,  floating  upon  the 


water,  the  leafy  branch  of  a  strange  tree  with 
red,  cuplike  blossoms.  Full -sailed  upon  the 
quiet  sea  they  held  their  course,  while  the  men 
upon  them,  eager-eyed  and  keen,  watched  for 
land  and  for  the  galleons  of  Spain.  Content  with 
the  taking  of  the  Star,  calamity  now  kept  away 
from  the  ships.  None  upon  them  died,  few  were 
sick,  master  and  captains  were  kind,  mariners 
and  landsmen  trusted  in  their  tried  might  and 
wealthy  promises,  and  all  the  gales  of  heaven 
prospered  the  voyage. 

On  the  last  day  of  July,  seven  weeks  from  that 
leave-taking  in  the  tavern  of  the  Triple  Tun, 
they  came  to  the  rocky  island  of  Tobago ;  watered 
there;  then,  driven  by  the  constant  wind,  went 
on  until  faint  upon  the  horizon  rose  the  coast  of 
the  mainland. 

The  mountains  of  Maccanoa  in  the  island  of 
Margarita  loomed  before  them;  they  passed 
Coche,  and  on  a  night  when  light  clouds  ob 
scured  the  moon  approached  the  pearl  islet  of 
Cubagua.  With  the  dawn  the  Mere  Honour  and 
the  Marigold  entered  the  harbor  of  New  Cadiz, 
and  began  to  bombard  that  much-decayed  town 
of  the  pearl-fishers.  The  Cygnet  kept  on  to  the 

*  77 


g>tr   Mortimer 

slight  settlement  of  La  Rancheria,  and  met, 
emerging  in  hot  haste  from  a  little  bay  of  blue 
crystal,  the  galleon  San  Jos6,  one  thousand  tons, 
commanded  by  Antonio  de  Castro,  very  richly 
laden,  sailing  from  Puerto  Bello  to  Santo  Do 
mingo,  and  carrying,  moreover,  a  company  of 
soldiers  from  Nueva  Cordoba  on  the  mainland  to 
Pampatar  in  Margarita. 


IV 

kYRIADS  of  sea-birds,  fright 
ened  by  the  thunder  of  the  guns, 
fled  screaming ;  the  palm-fringed 
shores  of  the  bay  showed  through 
the  smoke  brown  and  dim  and 
far  removed;  hot  indeed  was  the  tropic  morn 
ing  in  the  core  of  that  murk  and  flame  and 
ear-splitting  sound.  Each  of  the  combatants 
carried  three  tiers  of  ordnance ;  in  each  the  guns 
were  served  by  masters  at  their  trade.  Cannons 
and  culverins,  sakers  and  falcons,  rent  the  air; 
then  the  Cygnet,  having  the  wind  of  the  Spaniard, 
laid  her  aboard,  and  the  harquebusiers,  caliver, 
and  crossbow-men  also  began  to  speak.  To 
gether  with  the  great  guns  they  spoke  to  such 
effect  that  the  fight  became  very  deadly.  Twice 
the  English  strove  to  enter  the  huge  San  Jose, 
and  twice  the  Spaniards,  thick  upon  her  as 
swarming  bees,  beat  them  back  with  sword  and 
pike  and  blinding  volleys  from  their  musketeers. 

79 


From  the  tops  fell  upon  them  stones  and  heated 
pitch;  the  hail-shot  mowed  them  down;  swords 
men  and  halberdiers  thrust  many  from  their 
footing,  loosening  forevermore  their  clutching 
fingers,  forever  stayed  the  hoarse  shout  in  their 
throats.  Many  fell  into  the  sea  and  were  drown 
ed  before  the  soul  could  escape  through  gaping 
wounds;  others  reached  their  own  decks  to  die 
there,  or  to  lie  writhing  at  the  feet  of  the  unhurt, 
who  might  not  stay  for  the  need  of  any  comrade. 
At  the  second  repulse  there  arose  from  the  gal 
leon  a  deafening  cry  of  triumph. 

Feme,  erect  against  the  break  of  the  Cygnet's 
poop,  drawing  a  cloth  tight  with  teeth  and  hand 
above  a  wound  in  his  arm  from  which  the  blood 
was  streaming,  smiled  at  the  sound,  knotted  his 
tourniquet ;  then  for  the  third  time  sprang  upon 
that  slanting,  deadly  bridge  of  straining  ropes. 
His  sword  flashed  above  his  head. 

"Follow  me — follow  me!"  he  cried,  and  his 
face,  turned  over  his  shoulder,  looked  upon  his 
men.  A  drifting  smoke  wreath  obscured  his 
form ;  then  it  passed,  and  he  stood  in  the  galleon's 
storm  of  shot,  poised  above  them,  a  single  figure 
breathing  war.  Seen  through  the  glare,  the  face 

80 


was  serene ;  only  the  eyes  commanded  and  com 
pelled.  The  voice  rang  like  a  trumpet.  "St. 
George  and  Merry  England!  Come  on,  men! — 
come  on,  come  on!" 

They  poured  over  the  side  and  across  the 
chasm  dividing  them  from  their  foes.  A  resist 
less  force  they  came,  following  the  gleam  of  a 
lifted  sword,  the  "On — on!"  of  a  loved  leader's 
voice.  Sir  Mortimer  touched  the  galleon's  side, 
ran  through  the  body  a  man  of  Seville  whose 
sword-point  offered  at  his  throat,  and  stood  the 
next  moment  upon  the  poop  of  the  San  Jose. 
Robert  Baldry,  a  cutlass  between  his  teeth, 
sprang  after  him;  then  came  Sedley  and  Arden 
and  the  tide  of  the  English. 

The  Spanish  captain  met  his  death,  as  was 
fitting,  at  Feme's  hand ;  the  commandant  of  the 
soldiers  fell  to  the  share  of  Henry  Sedley.  The 
young  man  fought  with  dilated  eyes,  and  white 
lips  pressed  together.  Sir  Mortimer,  who  fought 
with  narrowed  eyes,  who,  quite  ungarrulous  by 
nature,  yet  ever  grew  talkative  in  such  an  hour 
as  this,  found  time  to  note  his  lieutenant's  deeds, 
to  throw  to  the  brother  of  the  woman  he  loved  a 
"Well  done,  dear  lad!"  Sedley  held  his  head 

81 


high;  his  leader's  praise  wrought  in  him  like 
wine.  He  had  never  seen  a  man  who  did  not  his 
best  beneath  the  eyes  of  Sir  Mortimer  Feme.  .  .  . 
There,  above  the  opposite  angle  of  the  poop,  red 
gold,  now  seen  but  dimly  through  the  reek  of  the 
guns,  now  in  a  moment  of  clear  sunshine  flaunt 
ing  it  undefiled,  streamed  the  Spanish  flag.  Be 
tween  him  and  that  emblem  of  world-power  the 
press  was  thick,  for  around  it  at  bay  were  gath 
ered  many  valiant  men  of  Spain,  fighting  for 
their  own.  They  who  by  the  law  of  the  strong 
were  to  inherit  from  them  had  yet  to  break  that 
phalanx.  Sedley  threw  himself  forward,  beat 
down  a  veteran  of  the  Indies,  swept  on  towards 
the  goal  of  that  hated  banner.  His  enemies 
withstood  him,  closed  around  him ;  in  a  moment 
he  was  cut  off  from  the  English,  was  gazing  into 
Death's  eyes.  With  desperate  courage  he  strove 
to  thrust  aside  the  spectre,  but  it  came  nearer, — 
and  nearer, — and  nearer.  The  blood  from  a  cut 
across  his  temple  was  blinding  him.  He  dashed 
it  from  him,  and  then — that  was  not  Death's 
face,  but  his  Captain's.  .  .  .  Death  slunk  away. 
Feme,  whose  dagger  had  made  that  rescue, 
whose  sword  was  rapidly  achieving  for  the  two 

82 


of  them  a  wizard's  circle,  chided  and  laughed  as 
he  fought: 

"What,  lad!  wouldst  have  played  Samson 
among  the  Philistines?  A  man  should  better 
know  his  strength. — There,  senor!  a  St.  George 
for  your  San  Jago! — Well  done  again,  Henry 
Sedley!  but  I  must  show  you  a  better  passado. 
— Have  at  thee,  Don  Inches ! — Ah,  Captain  Bald- 
ry,  Giles  Arden,  good  Humphrey,  give  you  wel 
come!  Here's  room  for  Englishmen. — Well,  die, 
then,  pertinacious  senor!  —  Now,  now,  Henry 
Sedley,  there  are  lions  yet  in  your  path,  but  not 
so  many.  Have  at  their  golden  banner  an  you 
prize  the  toy!  No,  Arden,  no — let  him  take  it 
single-handed.  Our  first  battle  is  far  behind  us. 
.  .  .  Now  who  leads  here,  since  I  think  that  he  who 
did  command  is  dead?  Is  it  you,  senor?" 

The  poop  was  a  shambles,  the  San  Jose  from 
stem  to  stern  in  sorry  case.  Underfoot  lay  the 
dead  and  wounded,  her  guns  were  silenced,  her 
men-at-arms  overmastered.  They  had  fought 
with  desperate  bravery,  but  the  third  attack  of 
the  English  had  been  elemental  in  its  force.  A 
rushing  wave,  a  devastating  flame,  they  had 
swept  the  ship,  and  defeat  was  the  portion  of 

83 


their  foes.  Waist  and  forecastle  were  won,  but 
upon  the  poop  a  remnant  yet  struggled,  though 
in  weakness  and  despair.  It  was  to  one  of  this 
band  that  the  Captain  of  the  Cygnet  addressed 
his  latest  words.  Even  as  he  spoke  he  parried 
the  other's  thrust,  and  felt  that  it  had  been  given 
but  half-heartedly.  He  had  used  the  Spanish 
tongue,  but  when  an  answer  came  from  the 
mailed  figure  before  him  it  was  couched  in 
English. 

"Not  so,  valiant  sir,"  it  said,  and  there  was 
in  the  voice  some  haste  and  eagerness.  "Say 
rather  I  am  led.  Alas!  when  a  man  fights  with 
his  sword  alone,  his  will  being  traitor  to  his  hand !" 

"Since  it  is  with  the  sword  alone  you  fight, 
Spaniard  with  an  English  tongue,"  replied  his 
antagonist,  "  I  do  advise  you  to  go  seek  your 
sword,  seeing  that  without  it  you  are  naught." 
As  he  spoke  he  sent  the  other's  weapon  hurtling 
into  the  sea. 

Its  owner  made  a  gesture  of  acquiescence.  "  I 
surrender,"  he  said;  then  in  an  undertone:  "He 
yonder  with  the  plume,  now  that  De  Castro  lies 
dead,  is  your  fittest  quarry.  Drag  him  down 
and  the  herd  is  yours." 

84 


Feme  stared,  then  curled  his  lip.  "Gram- 
ercy  for  your  hint,"  he  said.  "  I  pray  you  that 
henceforth  we  become  the  best  of  strangers." 

A  shout  arose,  and  Sedley  bore  down  upon 
them,  his  right  arm  high,  crumpled  in  his  hand 
the  folds,  tarnished  with  smoke,  riddled  by  shot, 
of  the  great  ensign.  It  was  the  beginning  of 
the  end.  Half  an  hour  later  the  red  cross  of 
St.  George  usurped  the  place  of  the  golden  flag. 
That  same  afternoon  the  Cygnet  and  the  San 
Jos6  —  the  latter  now  manned  by  an  English 
crew,  with  her  former  masters  under  hatches — 
appeared  before  La  Rancheria,  stormed  the  little 
settlement,  and  found  there  a  slight  treasure  of 
pearls.  More  than  this  was  accomplished,  for, 
boat-load  after  boat-load,  the  Spanish  survivors 
of  the  fight  were  transferred  from  the  galleon  to 
a  strip  of  lonely  shore,  and  there  left  to  shift  for 
themselves.  One  only  of  all  that  force  the  Cap 
tain  of  the  Cygnet  detained,  and  that  was  the 
man  who  had  used  the  tongue  of  England  and 
the  sword  of  Spain.  With  the  sunset  the  Mere 
Honour  and  the  Marigold,  having  left  desolation 
behind  them  at  New  Cadiz,  joined  the  Cygnet 
and  her  prize  where  they  lay  at  anchor  between 

85 


the  two  spits  of  sand  that  formed  the  harbor  of 
La  Rancheria. 

In  the  Mere  Honour's  state-cabin  the  Admiral 
of  the  expedition  formally  embraced  and  thanked 
his  Captain,  whose  service  to  the  common  cause 
had  been  so  great.  It  was,  indeed,  of  magni 
tude.  Not  many  hours  had  passed  between  the 
frenzy  of  battle  and  this  sunshiny  morning ;  but 
time  had  been  made  and  strength  had  been 
found  to  look  to  the  cargo  of  the  San  Jose.  If 
wealth  be  good,  it  was  worth  the  looking  to,  for 
not  the  Cacafuego  had  a  richer  lading.  Gold  and 
silver,  ingots  and  bars  and  wrought  images,  they 
found,  and  a  great  store  of  precious  stones.  To 
cap  all  fortune,  there  was  the  galleon's  self,  a 
great  ship,  seaworthy  yet,  despite  the  wounds  of 
yesterday,  mounting  many  guns,  well  supplied 
with  powder,  ammunition,  and  military  stores, 
English  now  in  heart,  and  lacking  nothing  but  an 
English  name.  This  they  gave  her  that  same 
day.  In  the  smoke  and  thunder  of  every  cannon 
royal  within  the  fleet  San  Jose  vanished,  and  in 
his  place  arose  the  Phoenix. 

Exultant,  flushed,  many  of  them  bearing 
wounds,  the  officers  of  the  expedition  and  the 

86 


gentlemen  adventurers  who  had  staked  with 
them  crowded  the  cabin  of  the  Mere  Honour. 
The  sunshine  streaming  through  the  windows 
showed  in  high  light  bandaged  heads  or  arms  and 
faces  haggard  with  victory.  Wine  had  been 
spilled,  and  in  the  air  there  was  yet  the  savor  of 
blood.  About  each  man  just  breathed  some 
taint  of  savagery  that  was  not  yet  beaten  back 
after  yesterday's  wild  outburst  and  breaking  of 
the  bars.  In  some  it  took  the  form  of  the  sleek 
stillness  of  the  tiger;  others  were  loud-voiced, 
restless,  biting  at  their  nails.  Only  to  a  few 
was  it  given  to  bear  triumph  soberly,  with  room 
for  other  thoughts ;  to  the  most  it  came  as  a  tu 
multuous  passion,  an  irrational  joy,  a  dazzling 
bandage  to  their  eyes,  beneath  which  they  saw, 
with  an  inner  vision,  wealth  a  growing  snowball 
and  victory  their  familiar  spirit.  Among  the 
adventurers  from  the  Cygnet  there  was,  more 
over,  an  intoxication  of  feeling  for  the  man  who 
had  led  them  in  that  desperate  battle,  whose 
subtle  gift  it  was  to  strike  fire  from  every  soul 
whose  circle  touched  his  own.  He  was  to  them 
among  ten  thousand  the  Captain  of  their  choice, 
not  loved  the  least  because  of  that  quality  in  him 

87 


g>ir 

which  gave  ever  just  the  praise  which  bred 
strong  longing  for  desert  of  fame.  Now  he  stood 
beside  the  Admiral,  and  spoke  with  ardor  of  the 
Englishmen  who  had  won  that  fight,  and  very 
tenderly  of  the  dead.  They  were  not  a  few,  for 
the  battle  had  been  long  and  doubtful.  Simply 
and  nobly  he  spoke,  giving  praise  to  thirsty  souls. 
When  he  had  made  an  end,  there  was  first  a 
silence  more  eloquent  than  speech,  pregnant 
with  the  joy  a  man  may  take  in  his  deed  when 
he  looks  upon  it  and  sees  that  it  is  good ;  then  a 
wild  cheer,  thrice  repeated,  for  Sir  Mortimer 
Feme.  The  name  went  out  of  the  windows 
over  the  sea,  and  up  to  every  man  who  sailed 
the  ship.  One  moment  Feme  stood,  tasting  his 
reward;  then,  "Silence,  friends!"  he  said.  "To 
God  the  victory!  And  I  hear  naught  of  New 
Cadiz  and  other  fortunate  ships."  He  drew 
swiftly  from  its  sling  his  wounded  arm  and  waved 
it  above  his  head.  "The  Admiral!"  he  cried, 
and  then,  "The  Marigold!11 

When  at  last  there  was  quiet  in  the  cabin, 
Nevil,  a  man  of  Humphrey  Gilbert's  type,  too 
lofty  of  mind  to  care  who  did  the  service,  so  that 
the  service  was  done,  began  to  speak  of  the 

88 


&tr    IHorltmrr 

captured  galleon.  "  A  noble  ship — the  Star  come 
again,  glorious  in  her  resurrection  robes!  Who 
shall  be  her  captain,  teaching  her  to  eschew  old 
ways  and  serve  the  Queen?"  His  eyes  rested 
upon  the  galleon's  conqueror.  "Sir  Mortimer 
Feme,  the  election  lies  with  you." 

Feme  started  sharply.  "  Sir,  it  is  an  honor  I 
do  not  desire !  As  Admiral,  I  pray  you  to  name 
the  Captain  of  the  Phoenix." 

A  breathless  hush  fell  upon  the  cabin.  It  was 
a  great  thing  to  be  captain  of  a  great  ship — so 
great  a  thing,  so  great  a  chance,  that  of  the  ad 
venturers  who  had  bravely  fought  on  yesterday 
more  than  one  felt  his  cheek  grow  hot  and  the 
blood  drum  in  his  ears.  Arden  cared  not  for 
preferment,  but  Henry  Sedley's  eyes  were  very 
eager.  Baldry,  having  no  hopes  of  favor,  sat 
like  a  stone,  his  great  frame  rigid,  his  nails  white 
upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  his  lips  white  and 
sneering  beneath  his  short,  black,  strongly  curl 
ing  beard. 

The  pause  seemed  of  the  longest;  then,  "Not 
so,"  said  the  Admiral,  quietly.  "  It  is  your  right. 
We  know  that  you  will  make  no  swerving  from 
your  duty  to  God,  the  Queen,  and  every  soul  that 

89 


sails  upon  this  adventure,  which  duty  is  to 
strengthen  to  the  uttermost  this  new  sinew  of  our 
enterprise.  Mailed  hand  and  velvet  glove,  you 
know  their  several  uses,  and  the  man  whom  you 
shall  choose  will  be  one  to  make  the  galleon's 
name  resound." 

Feme  signed  to  the  steward,  and  when  the 
tankard  was  filled,  raised  the  sherris  to  his  lips. 
"  I  drink  to  Captain  Robert  Baldry,  of  the  Phoe 
nix!"  he  said,  bowed  slightly  to  the  man  of  his 
nomination,  then  turned  aside  to  where  stood 
Henry  Sedley. 

Around  the  cabin  ran  a  deep  murmur  of  re 
luctant  assent  to  the  wisdom  of  the  choice  and 
of  tribute  to  the  man  who  had  just  heaped  be 
fore  his  personal  enemy  the  pure  gold  of  oppor 
tunity.  Few  were  there  from  whom  Baldry  had 
not  won  dislike,  but  fewer  yet  who  knew  him 
not  for  a  captain  famous  for  victory  against  odds, 
trained  for  long  years  in  the  school  of  these  seas, 
at  once  desperate  and  wary,  a  man  of  men  for 
adventure  such  as  theirs.  He  had  made  known 
far  and  wide  the  name  of  that  his  ship  which  the 
sea  took,  and  for  the  Ph&nix  he  well  might  win  a 
yet  greater  renown. 

90 


Now  the  red  blood  flooded  his  face,  and  he 
started  up,  speaking  thickly.  "You  are  Ad 
miral  of  us  all,  Sir  John  Nevil !  I  do  understand 
that  it  is  yours  to  make  disposition  in  a  matter 
such  as  this.  I  take  no  favor  from  the  hand  of 
Sir  Mortimer  Feme!" 

"I  give  you  none,"  said  Feme,  coldly.  "Fa 
vors  I  keep  for  friendship,  but  I  deny  not  justice 
to  my  foe." 

The  Admiral's  grave  tones  prevented  Baldry's 
answer.  "Do  you  appeal  to  me  as  Admiral? 
Then  I  also  adjudge  you  the  command  of  the 
galleon.  The  Star  did  very  valiantly;  look  to  it 
that  the  Phcenix  prove  no  laggard." 

"Hear  me  swear  that  I  will  make  her  more 
famous  than  is  Drake's  Golden  Hind!"  cried  Bal- 
dry,  his  exultation  breaking  bounds.  "  Sir  John, 
you  have  knowledge  of  men,  and  I  thank  you! 
Sir  Mortimer  Feme,  I  will  give  account — ' 

"  Not  to  me,  sir,"  interrupted  Feme,  haughtily. 
"  I  have  but  one  account  with  you,  and  that  my 
sword  shall  hereafter  audit." 

"Sir,  I  am  content!"  cried  the  other,  fiercely, 
then  turning  again  to  the  Admiral,  broke  into  a 
laugh  that  was  impish  in  its  glee.  "Ah,  I've 

91 


needed  to  feel  my  hand  on  my  ship's  helm! 
Sir  John,  shall  I  have  my  sixty  tall  fellows  again, 
with  just  a  small  levy  from  the  Mere  Honour, 
the  Marigold,  and  the  Cygnet?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Admiral,  and  presently, 
by  his  rising,  declared  the  council  ended,  where 
upon  the  adventurers  dispersed  to  their  several 
ships  where  they  lay  at  anchor  in  the  crystal  har 
bor,  the  watchmen  in  the  tops  straining  eyes,  on 
the  decks  mariners  and  soldiers  as  jubilant  as 
were  ever  men  who  did  battle  on  the  seas.  Only 
the  Cygnet's  boat,  rocking  beneath  the  stern  of 
the  Mere  Honour,  waited  for  its  Captain,  who 
tarried  with  the  Admiral. 

In  the  state-cabin  the  two  men  sat  for  some 
moments  in  silence,  the  Admiral  covering  with 
his  hand  his  bearded  lips,  Feme  with  head 
thrown  back  against  the  wall  and  half-closed 
eyes.  In  the  strong  light  with  which  the  cabin 
was  flooded  his  countenance  now  showed  of  a 
somewhat  worn  and  haggard  beauty.  Drunken 
and  forgotten  was  the  wine  of  battle,  gone  the 
lofty  and  impassioned  vein ;  after  the  exaltation 
came  the  melancholy  fit,  and  the  man  who, 
mailed  in  activities,  was  yet,  beneath  that  armor, 

92 


a  dreamer  and  a  guesser  of  old  riddles,  had  let 
the  fire  burn  low,  and  was  gone  down  into  the 
shadowy  places. 

"Mortimer,"  spoke  the  Admiral,  and  waited. 
The  other  moved,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  then 
with  a  short  laugh  came  back  to  the  present. 

" My  friend  .  .  .  How  iron  is  our  destiny!  Do 
I  hate  that  man  too  greatly?  One  might  say,  I 
think,  that  I  loved  him  well,  seeing  that  I  have 
lent  my  shoulder  for  him  to  climb  upon." 

"Mortimer,  Mortimer,"  said  Nevil,  "you 
know  that  I  love  you.  My  friend,  I  pray  you 
to  somewhat  beware  yourself.  I  think  there  is 
in  your  veins  a  subtle  poison  may  work  you 
harm." 

Feme  looked  steadfastly  upon  him.  "What 
is  its  name?" 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "  I  know  not.  It 
is  subtle.  Perhaps  it  is  pride — ambition  too  in 
wrought  with  fairest  qualities  to  show  as  such, — 
security  of  your  self  of  selves  too  absolute. 
Perhaps  I  mistake  and  your  blood  doth  run  as 
healthfully  as  a  child's.  But  you  are  of  those 
who  ever  breed  in  others  speculation,  wilding 
fancies.  .  .  .  When  a  man  doth  all  things  too  well, 

93 


what  is  there  left  for  God  to  do  but  to  break  and 
crumble  and  remould?  If  I  do  you  wrong, 
blame,  if  you  will,  my  love,  which  is  jealous  for 
you — friend  whom  I  value,  soldier  and  knight 
whom  I  have  ever  thought  the  fair  ensample  of 
our  time!" 

"  I  hold  many  men,  known  and  unknown, 
within  myself,"  said  Feme,  slowly.  "  I  think  it 
is  always  so  with  those  of  my  temper.  But  over 
that  hundred  I  am  centurion." 

"God  forgive  me  if  I  misjudge  one  of  their 
number,"  answered  the  other.  "The  centurion 
I  have  never  doubted  nor  will  doubt." 

Another  silence;  then,  "Will  you  see  that 
Spaniolated  Englishman,  my  prisoner?"  asked 
Sir  Mortimer.  "  He  is  under  charge  without." 

The  Admiral  put  to  his  lips  a  golden  whistle, 
and  presently  there  stood  in  the  cabin  a  slight 
man  of  not  unpleasing  countenance — blue  eyes, 
brown  hair,  unfurrowed  brow,  and  beneath  a 
scant  and  silky  beard  a  chin  as  softly  rounded  as 
a  woman's. — His  name  and  estate?  Francis 
Sark,  gentleman. — English?  So  born  and  bred, 
cousin  and  sometime  servant  to  my  lord  of 
Shrewsbury. — And  what  did  my  English  gentle- 

94 


g>tr    Mortimer 

man,  my  cousin  to  an  English  nobleman,  upon 
the  galleon  San  Jos£?  Alack,  sirs!  were  Eng 
lishmen  upon  Spanish  ships  so  unknown  a  spec 
tacle? 

"I  have  found  them,"  quoth  the  Admiral, 
"rowing  in  Spanish  galleys,  naked,  scarred, 
chained,  captives  and  martyrs." 

Said  Feme,  "You,  sir,  fought  in  Milan  mail, 
standing  beside  the  captain  of  soldiers  from 
Nueva  Cordoba." 

"  And  if  I  did,"  answered  boldly  their  prisoner, 
"none  the  less  was  I  slave  and  captive,  con 
strained  to  serve  detested  masters.  Where  needs 
must  I  fight,  I  fought  to  the  purpose.  Doth 
not  the  galley-slave  pull  strongly  at  the  oar, 
though  the  chase  be  English  and  of  his  own 
blood?" 

"  He  toils  under  the  whip,"  said  Feme.  "  Now 
what  whip  did  the  Spaniard  use?" 

"  He  is  dead,  and  his  men  await  succor  on  that 
lonely  coast  where  you  left  them,"  was  Master 
Francis  Sark's  somewhat  singular  reply.  "  There 
is  left  in  the  fortress  of  Nueva  Cordoba  a  single 
company  of  soldiers;  the  battery  at  the  river's 
mouth  hath  another.  Luiz  de  Guardiola  com- 

95 


mands  the  citadel,  and  he  is  a  strong  man,  but 
Pedro  Mexia  at  the  Bocca  is  so  easy-going  that 
his  sentinels  nod  their  nights  away.  In  the  port 
ride  two  caravels — eighty  tons,  no  more — and 
their  greatest  gun  a  demi-cannon.  The  town  is 
a  cowardly  place  of  priests,  women,  and  rich 
men,  but  it  holds  every  peso  of  this  year's  treas 
ure  gathered  against  the  coming  of  the  plate- 
fleet.  There  is  much  silver  with  pearls  from 
Margarita,  and  crescents  of  gold  from  Guiana, 
and  it  all  lies  in  a  house  of  white  stone  on  the 
north  side  of  the  square.  Mayhap  De  Guardiola 
up  in  the  fortress  watches,  but  all  else,  from 
Mexia  to  the  last  muleteer,  think  themselves  as 
safe  as  in  the  lap  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  The 
plate-fleet  stays  at  Cartagena,  because  of  the 
illness  of  its  Admiral,  Don  Juan  de  Maeda  y 
Espinosa.  ...  I  show  you,  sirs,  a  bird's  nest 
worth  the  robbing. " 

"You  are  a  galley-slave  the  most  circumstan 
tial  I  have  ever  met,"  said  Feme.  "  If  there  are 
nets  about  this  tree,  I  will  wring  your  neck  for 
the  false  songster  that  you  are." 

"  You  shall  go  with  us  bird's-nesting,"  said  the 
Admiral. 


g>tr   iKortimrr 

"That  falls  in  with  my  humor,"  Master  Sark 
made  answer.  "For,  look  you,  there  are  such 
things  as  a  heavy  score  and  an  ancient  grudge, 
to  say  nothing  of  true  service  to  a  true  Queen." 

"Then,"  quoth  the  other,  "you  shall  feed  fat 
your  grudge.  But  if  what  you  have  told  me  is 
leasing  and  not  truth,  I  will  hang  you  from  the 
yard-arm  of  my  ship!" 

"It  is  God's  truth,"  swore  the  other. 

Thus  it  was  that,  having,  like  all  English  ad 
venturers  upon  Spanish  seas,  to  trust  to  strange 
guides,  the  Mere  Honour,  the  Cygnet,  the  Mari 
gold,  and  the  Phcenix  shaped  their  course  for 
the  mainland  and  Nueva  Cordoba,  where  were 
bars  of  silver,  pearls,  and  gold  crescents,  and  up 
in  the  castle  that  fierce  hawk  De  Guardiola,  who 
cared  little  for  the  town  that  was  young  and 
weak,  but  much  for  gold,  the  fortress,  and  his 
own  grim  will  and  pleasure. 


'UIZ  DE  GUARDIOLA,  magnif 
icent  Castilian,  proud  as  Lucifer, 
still  as  the  water  above  the  reef 
offshore,  and  cruel  as  the  black 
fangs  beneath  that  serenity, 
looked  over  the  wall  of  the  fortress  of  Nueva 
Cordoba.  He  looked  down  into  the  moat  well 
stocked  with  crocodiles,  great  fish  his  mercena 
ries,  paid  with  flesh,  and  he  looked  at  the  tunal 
which  ringed  the  moat  as  the  moat  ringed  the 
squat  white  fortress.  A  deadly  girdle  was  the 
tunal,  of  cactus  and  other  thorny  things,  thick, 
wide,  dark,  and  impenetrable,  a  forest  of  stilet 
toes,  and  for  its  kings  the  rattlesnake  and  viper. 
Nor  naked  Indian  nor  mailed  white  man  might 
traverse  that  thicket,  where  wall  on  wall  was  met 
a  spiked  and  iron  growth.  One  opening  there 
was,  through  which  ran  the  road  to  the  town, 
but  a  battery  deemed  impregnable  commanded 
this  approach,  forming  an  effectual  clasp  for  that 


strong  cestus  which  the  fecund,  supple,  and 
heated  land  made  possible  to  all  Spanish  forti 
fications.  Beyond  the  tunal  the  naked  hillside 
fell  steeply  to  a  narrow  plain,  all  patched  with 
golden  flowers,  and  from  this  yellow  carpet 
writhed  tall  cacti,  fantastic  as  trees  seen  in  a 
dream.  Upon  the  plain,  pearl  pink  in  the  sunset 
light,  huddled  the  town.  Palm-trees  and  tama 
rinds  overhung  it;  palm-trees,  mimosas,  and 
mangroves  marked  the  course  of  a  limpid  river. 
Above  the  battery  at  the  river's  mouth  drooped 
a  red  cross  in  a  white  field.  Caravels  there  were 
none  in  the  road,  but  riding  there,  close  inshore, 
the  four  ships  that  had  sunk  the  caravels  and 
silenced  the  battery. 

High  in  the  air  of  evening,  blown  from  the 
town,  a  trumpet  sounded.  De  Guardiola  ground 
his  teeth,  for  that  jubilant  silver  calling  was 
not  for  San  Jago,  but  St.  George.  The  notes 
gathered  every  memory  of  the  past  few  days  and 
pressed  them  upon  him  in  one  cup  of  chagrin. 
The  caravels  were  gone,  the  battery  at  the  Bocca 
gone,  'the  town  surrendered  to  these  English 
dogs  who  now  daily  bared  their  teeth  to  the  for 
tress  itself.  De  Guardiola  admitted  the  menace, 

99 


knew  from  experience  in  the  Low  Countries  that 
this  breed  of  the  North  sprang  strongly,  held 
firmly.  "Hounds  of  hell!"  he  muttered.  "  Where 
is  the  fleet  from  Cartagena?" 

The  tropic  ocean  answered  not,  and  the  words 
of  the  wind  were  unintelligible.  The  sun  dropped 
lower;  the  plain  appeared  to  move,  to  roll  and 
welter  in  the  heated  air  and  yellow  light.  Tall 
starvelings,  the  cacti  spread  their  arms;  from  a 
mimosa  wood  arose  a  cloud  of  vultures;  it  was 
the  hour  of  the  Angelus,  but  no  bells  rang  in  the 
churches  of  the  town.  The  town  sat  in  fear, 
shrinking  into  corners  from  its  cup  of  trembling. 
"Ransom!"  cried  the  English  from  their  ships 
and  from  their  quarters  in  the  square.  "  Pay  us 
ransom,  or  we  burn  and  destroy!"  "Mother  of 
God!"  wailed  Nueva  Cordoba.  "Why  ask  but 
fifty  thousand  ducats?  As  easy  to  give  you  the 
revenue  of  all  the  Indies !  Moreover,  every  peso 
is  housed  in  the  fortress.  Day  before  yesterday 
we  carried  there — oh,  senors,  not  our  wealth,  but 
our  poverty!"  Quoth  the  English:  "What  has 
gone  up  may  come  down,"  and  sent  messengers, 
both  Spanish  and  English,  to  Don  Luiz  de  Guar- 
diola,  Governor  of  Nueva  Cordoba,  who  from  his 

100 


stronghold  swore  that  he  found  himself 

to  hang  these  pirates,  but  not  to  dispense  to 

them  the  King  of  Spain  his  treasure.     Ransom! 

What  word  was  that  for  the  lips  of  Lutheran 

dogs! 

A  sea  bird  flew  overhead  with  a  wailing  cry; 
down  in  the  moat  a  crocodile  raised  his  horrible, 
fanged  snout,  then  sank  beneath  the  still  water. 
Don  Luiz  turned  his  bloodshot  eyes  upon  the 
town  in  jeopardy  and  the  bland  and  mocking 
ocean,  so  guileless  of  those  longed-for  sails.  The 
four  ships  in  the  river's  mouth!  —  silently  he 
cursed  their  every  mast  and  spar,  the  holds  agape 
for  Spanish  treasure,  the  decks  whereon  he  saw 
men  moving,  the  flags  and  streaming  pennants 
flaunting  interrogation  of  Spain's  boasted  power. 
A  cold  fury  mounted  from  Don  Luiz's  heart  to 
his  brain.  Of  late  he  had  slept  not  at  all,  eaten 
little,  drunken  no  great  amount  of  wine.  Like  a 
shaken  carpet  the  plain  rose  and  fell;  a  mirage 
lifted  the  coasts  of  distant  islands,  piling  them 
above  the  horizon  into  castles  and  fortifications 
baseless  as  a  dream.  The  sun  dipped;  up  from 
the  east  rushed  the  night.  The  tunal  grew  a 
dark  smudge,  drawn  by  a  wizard  forefinger 

101 


d  Dei  Guardiola,  his  men-at-arms,  the  silver 
bars  and  the  gold  crescents  from  Guiana.  Out 
swung  the  stars,  blazing,  mighty,  with  black 
spaces  in  between.  Again  rang  the  trumpet,  a 
high  voice  proclaiming  eternal  endeavor.  The 
wind  began  to  blow,  and  on  the  plain  the  cacti, 
gloomy  and  fantastic  sentinels,  moved  their  stiff 
bodies,  waved  their  twisted  arms  in  gestures  of 
strangeness  and  horror.  The  Spaniard  turned 
on  his  heel,  went  down  to  his  men-at-arms  where 
they  kept  watch  and  ward,  and  at  midnight,  rid 
ing  like  Death  on  a  great,  pale  steed,  led  a  hun 
dred  horsemen  out  of  the  fortress,  through  the 
tunal,  and  so  down  the  hillside  to  the  town. 

The  English  sentries  cried  alarm.  In  the 
square  a  man  with  a  knot  of  velvet  in  his  helm 
swung  himself  into  the  saddle  of  a  captured  war- 
horse,  waved  aside  the  blue-jerkined  boy  at  the 
rein,  in  a  word  or  two  cried  over  his  shoulder 
managed  to  impart  to  those  behind  him  sheer 
assurance  of  victory,  and  was  off  to  greet  Don 
Luiz.  They  met  in  the  wide  street  leading  from 
the  square,  De  Guardiola  with  his  hundred  cav  • 
aliers  and  Mortimer  Ferne  with  his  chance  med 
ley  of  horse  and  foot.  The  hot  night  filled  with 

102 


noise,  the  scream  of  wounded  steeds  and  the 
shouting  of  men.  Lights  flared  in  the  windows, 
and  women  wailed  to  all  the  saints.  Stubbornly 
the  English  drove  back  the  Spanish,  foot  by  foot, 
the  way  they  had  come,  down  the  street  of  heat 
and  clamor.  In  the  dark  hour  before  the  dawn 
De  Guardiola  sounded  a  retreat,  rode  with  his 
defeated  band  up  the  pallid  hillside,  through  the 
serpent-haunted  tunal,  over  the  dreadfully  peo 
pled  moat  into  the  court  of  the  white  stone  for 
tress.  There,  grim  and  gray,  with  closed  lips 
and  glowing  eyes,  he  for  a  moment  sat  his  horse 
in  the  midst  of  his  spent  men,  then  heavily  dis 
mounted,  and  called  to  him  Pedro  Mexia,  who, 
several  days  before,  had  abandoned  the  battery 
at  the  river's  mouth,  fleeing  with  the  remnant  of 
his  company  to  the  fortress.  The  two  went  to 
gether  into  the  hall,  and  there,  while  his  squire 
unarmed  De  Guardiola,  the  lesser  man  spoke 
fluently,  consigning  to  all  the  torments  of  hell 
the  strangers  in  Nueva  Cordoba. 

"  Go  to ;  you  are  drunken !"  said  De  Guardiola, 
coldly.     "You  speak  what  you  cannot  act." 

"  I  have  three  houses  in  the  town,"  swore  the 
other.     "A  reasonable  ransom — " 


"  There  is  no  longer  any  question  of  ransom," 
answered  Don  Luiz.  "Fellow" — to  the  armor 
er, — "fetch  me  a  surgeon." 

Mexia  sat  upright,  his  eyes  widening:  "No 
question  of  ransom!  I  thank  the  saints  that  I 
am  no  hidalgo!  Now  had  simple  Pedro  Mexia 
been  somewhat  roughly  handled,  unhorsed  may 
hap,  even  the  foot  of  an  English  heretic  planted 
on  his  breast,  I  think  that  talk  of  the  ransom  of 
Nueva  Cordoba  would  not  have  ceased.  But 
Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola! — quite  another  matter! 
Santa  Teresa!  if  the  town  is  burnt  I  will  have 
payment  for  my  three  houses!"  His  superior 
snarled,  then  as  the  surgeon  entered,  made  signs 
to  the  latter  to  uncover  a  bruised  shoulder  and 
side. 

At  sunrise  a  trumpet  was  blown  without  the 
tunal,  and  the  English  again  made  demand  of 
ransom  money.  The  fortress  crouching  upon 
the  hilltop  gave  no  answer,  stayed  silent  as  a  sep 
ulchre.  Shortly  afterwards  from  one  quarter  of 
the  town  arose  together  many  columns  of  smoke ; 
a  little  later  an  explosion  shook  the  earth.  The 
great  magazine  of  Nueva  Cordoba  lay  in  ruins, 
while  around  it  burned  the  houses  fired  by  Eng- 

104 


lish  torches.  "Shall  we  destroy  the  whole  of 
your  city  ?"  demanded  the  English.  "Judge  you 
if  fifty  thousand  ducats  will  build  it  again!" 

Nueva  Cordoba,  distracted,  sent  petitioners  to 
their  Governor.  "  Pay  these  hell-hounds  and 
pirates  and  let  them  sail  away!"  "Pay,"  ad 
vised  also  Pedro  Mexia,  "or  presently  they  may 
have  the  fortress  as  well  as  the  town!  The 
squadron  —  it  is  yet  at  Cartagena!  Easier  to 
torment  the  caciques  until  more  gold  flows  than 
to  build  another  Nueva  Cordoba.  Scarpines  and 
strappado  won't  lay  stone  on  stone!" 

Don  Luiz  kept  long  silence  where  he  stood,  a 
man  of  iron,  cold  as  the  stone  his  long  ringers 
pressed,  venomous  as  any  snake  in  the  tunal, 
proud  as  a  Spaniard  may  be,  and  like  the  rest  of 
his  world  very  mad  for  gold ;  but  at  last  he  turned, 
and  despatching  to  the  English  camp  a  white 
flag,  proposed  by  mouth  of  his  herald  a  brief 
cessation  of  hostilities,  and  a  meeting  betwreen 
himself,  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola,  Governor  of  Nu 
eva  Cordoba,  and  the  valorous  Senor  John  Nevil, 
commandant  of  Englishmen.  Whereto  in  an 
swer  came,  three-piled  with  courtesy,  an  invita 
tion  to  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola  and  ten  of  his 

105 


cavaliers  to  sup  that  evening  in  Nueva  Cordoba 
with  John  Nevil  and  his  officers.  Truce  should 
be  proclaimed,  safe-conduct  given ;  for  table-talk 
could  be  no  better  subject  than  the  question  of 
ransom. 

Facing  the  square  of  Nueva  Cordoba  was  a 
goodly  house,  built  by  the  Church  for  the  Church, 
but  now  sacrilegiously  turned  to  other  uses  and 
become  the  quarters  of  Sir  John  Nevil  and  Sir 
Mortimer  Feme,  who  held  the  town  and  men 
aced  the  fortress,  while  Baptist  Man  wood  and 
Robert  Baldry  kept  the  fleet  and  conquered  bat 
tery.  The  place  had  a  great  arched  refectory, 
and  here  the  English  prepared  their  banquet. 

Indian  friends  by  now  had  they,  for  in  the 
town  they  had  found  and  set  at  liberty  three 
caciques,  penned  like  beasts,  chained  with  a  sin 
gle  chain,  scored  with  marks  sickening  to  look 
upon.  The  caciques  proved  not  ungrateful. 
Down  the  river  this  very  day  had  come  canoes 
rowed  by  men  of  bronze  and  rilled  with  spoils  of 
the  chase,  fish  of  strange  shapes  and  brilliant  hues, 
golden,  luscious  fruits,  flowers  also  fairer  than 
amaranth  or  asphodel,  gold  beads  and  green 
stones.  Gold  and  gems  went  into  the  treasure- 

106 


chests  aboard  the  ships,  but  all  besides  came 
kindly  in  for  the  furnishing  of  that  rich  feast. 
Nor  were  lacking  other  viands,  for  grain  and 
flesh  and  wine  had  been  abundant  in  Nueva 
Cordoba,  whose  storehouses  now  the  English 
held.  They  hung  their  borrowed  banqueting- 
hall  with  garlands  of  flowers,  upon  the  long  table 
put  great  candles  of  virgin  wax,  with  gold  and 
silver  drinking- vessels,  and  brought  to  the  revel 
of  the  night  a  somewhat  towering,  wild,  and 
freakish  humor.  Victory  unassuaged  was  theirs, 
and  for  them  Fortune  had  cogged  her  dice. 
They  had  taken  the  San  Jose  and  sunk  the 
caravels,  they  had  sacked  the  pearl-towns  and 
Nueva  Cordoba,  they  had  gathered  laurels  for 
themselves  and  England.  For  the  fortress,  they 
deemed  that  they  might  yet  drain  it  of  hoarded 
treasure.  The  poison  of  the  land  and  time  had 
touched  them.  The  wind  sang  to  them  of  con 
quest;  morn  and  eve,  the  sun  at  noon,  and  at 
night  the  phosphorescent  sea,  were  of  the  color 
of  gold,  and  the  stars  spoke  of  Fame.  The  great 
mountains  also,  to  the  south, — how  might  the 
eye  leap  from  height  to  height  and  the  soul  not 
stir?  In  Time's  hornbook  ambition  is  an  early 

107 


lesson,  and  these  scholars  had  conned  it  well. 
Of  all  that  force,  scarce  one  simple  soldier  or 
mariner  in  whom  expectation  ran  not  riot,  while 
the  gentlemen  adventurers  in  whose  company 
were  to  sup  De  Guardiola  and  his  ten  cavaliers 
saw  that  all  things  might  be  done  with  ease  and 
that  evil  chances  lurked  not  for  them. 

The  Captain  of  the  Cygnet  and  the  Captain  of 
the  Phoenix,  with  Arden  and  Sedley,  awaited  be 
side  the  great  window  of  the  hall  their  guests' 
appearance.  The  sunset  was  not  yet,  but  the 
moment  was  at  hand.  The  light,  dwelling  upon 
naked  hillside  and  the  fortress  crowning  it,  made 
both  to  seem  candescent,  hill  and  castle  one 
heart  of  flame  against  the  purple  mountains  that 
stretched  across  the  south.  Very  high  were  the 
mountains,  very  still  and  white  that  fortress 
flame;  the  yellow  plain  could  not  be  seen,  but 
the  palm-trees  were  gold  green  above  the  walls 
of  Nueva  Cordoba.  The  light  fell  from  the  hill 
top,  a  solitary  trumpet  blew,  and  forth  from  that 
guarded  opening  in  the  tunal  rode  De  Guardiola 
on  his  pale  horse,  and  at  his  back  ten  Spanish 
gentlemen. 

"  The  dark  line  of  them  is  like  a  serpent  creep- 
108 


ing  from  the  tunal,"  said  Henry  Sedley.  "Last 
night  I  dreamed  a  strange  thing.  ...  It  concerned 
my  sister  Damans.  She  came  up  from  the  sea, 
straight  from  the  water  like  blown  spray,  and 
she  was  dressed  in  white.  She  looked  down 
through  the  sea  and  her  tears  fell,  and  falling, 
they  made  music  like  the  mermaiden's  singing 
that  we  heard.  'Lie  still,'  she  said.  'Thou 
under  the  sea  and  I  under  the  sod.  Lie  still: 
dream  well:  all's  over.'  To  whom  did  she  speak?" 

"If  I  were  a  dead  man  and  she  called  my 
name,  I  would  answer,"  said  Feme.  "  She  under 
the  sod  and  I  under  the  sea.  ...  So  be  it !  But 
first  one  couch,  one  cup,  one  garland,  the  sound 
ed  depths  of  love— 

"I  dreamed  of  home,"  quoth  Baldry,  "and  of 
my  mother's  calling  me,  a  little  lad,  when  at 
twilight  work  was  done.  'Robert,  Robert!'  she 
called." 

"  I  had  no  dreams,"  said  Sir  Mortimer.  "  Now 
sounds  John  Nevil's  trumpets — our  guests  have 
made  entry." 

"  Why,  senors,"  answered  Mexia,  flattered  and 
flown  with  wine,  "  I  learned  to  speak  your  tongue 
8  109 


from  a  man  of  your  country,  who  also  gave 
me  that  knowledge  of  English  affairs  which 
you  are  pleased  to  compliment.  I  make  my 
boast  that  I  am  no  traveller  —  I  have  not 
been  home  to  Seville  these  twenty  years — yet, 
as  you  see,  I  have  some  trifling  acquaint 
ance — " 

"Your  learning  is  of  so  shining  a  quality," 
quoth  Sir  Mortimer,  with  courteous  emphasis, 
"  that  here  and  there  a  flaw  cannot  mar  its  curi 
ous  worth.  Smerwick  Fort  lies  in  Ireland,  senor, 
not  in  England.  Though  verily  the  best  thing  I 
know  of  Edmund  Campion  is  the  courageousness 
of  his  end;  yet  indeed  he  died  not  with  a  halo 
about  his  head,  nor  were  miracles  wrought  with 
his  blood.  Her  Gracious  Majesty  the  Queen  of 
England  hath  no  such  distemperature  as  that 
you  name,  and  keepeth  no  sort  of  familiar  fiend. 
The  Queen  of  Scots,  if  a  most  fair  and  most  un 
fortunate,  is  yet  a  most  wicked  lady,  who,  alas! 
hath  trained  many  a  gallant  man  to  a  bloody 
and  disastrous  end." 

"Who  is  that  Englishman,  your  teacher?" 
came  from  the  head  of  the  board  the  Admiral's 
grave  voice. 

no 


"He  is  dead,"  said  De  Guardiola  at  his  right 
hand. 

"Of  his  fate,  valiant  senors,"  began  the  fud 
dled  Mexia,  "you  alone  may  be  precisely 
aware — " 

"He  is  dead,"  again  stated  with  deliberation 
Don  Luiz.  "  I  know,  sefiors,  the  pool  where 
these  fish  were  caught  and  the  wood  where  alone 
grows  this  purple  fruit.  So  you  set  at  liberty 
those  three  slaves,  the  caciques?  .  .  .  Well,  I  had 
reason  to  believe  that  they  had  hidden  gold." 

"Where  is  Master  Francis  Sark?"  demanded 
Nevil,  of  Feme.  "  I  did  command  his  attend 
ance  here  to-night." 

"  He  plead  a  tertian  fever — would  not  mar  our 
warmth  with  his  shivering,"  said  the  other.  "  I 
sent  the  chirurgeon  to  his  cell — for  indeed  the 
man  shook  like  a  reed." 

It  would  appear  that  Francis  Sark  was  an  un 
known  name  to  their  guests,  for  no  flicker  of 
recognition  passed  over  the  countenance  of  any 
Spaniard.  They  sat  at  the  long  table,  and  foe 
drank  to  foe  while  fiddle  and  hautboy  made 
music  and  the  candles  slowly  wasted  and  in  the 
hot  night  the  garlands  withered.  Perfumes  were 

in 


lit  in  the  room,  and  the  smoke  of  their  burning 
made  a  violet  haze  through  which  quivered  the 
heart-shaped  candle  flames.  The  music  had  a 
wild  ring,  and  laughter  as  wild  came  easily  to  a 
man's  lips.  The  English  laughed  for  that  their 
spirits  were  turned  thistle-down,  and  the  Span 
iards  laughed  because  a  man's  foe  should  not  see 
his  chagrin. 

For  a  while  compliment  and  courtesy  led  each 
party  in  chains ;  they  masked  distrust  and  hatred 
beneath  cloth-of-gold  ceremoniousness,  punctil 
iously  accepted  a  Roland  for  an  Oliver,  extrava 
gantly  praised  the  prowess  of  men  and  nations 
whom  they  much  desired  to  sweep  from  the  face 
of  the  earth.  But  as  time  wore  on  and  the  wine 
went  round,  this  cloak  of  punctilio  began  to  grow 
threadbare  and  the  steel  beneath  to  gleam  dan 
gerously.  There  was  thunder  in  the  air,  and  men 
were  ready  to  play  at  ball  with  the  apples  of  dis 
cord,  though  as  yet  they  but  tossed  to  each  other 
the  poisonous  flowers  which  should  grow  that 
fruit.  "  How  mightily  on  such  a  day  did  your 
little  island!"  cried  the  Spaniards.  "Ah,  senors, 
the  invincibleness  of  your  conquistadores !"  ran 
the  English  testimony.  "  El  Draco,  Juan  Acles, 

112 


yourselves,  valorous  gentlemen,  what  daring  past 
most  pirates  to  sail  the  King  of  Spain  his  seas!" 
came  the  Spanish  retort. 

"The  King  of  Spain  his  seas!"  an  Englishman 
echoed,  softly. 

"Why,  had  you  not  heard?"  said  Arden. 
"God  gave  them  to  him  on  creation  morning." 

"Pirates!  That  is  a  prickly  word!"  swore 
Baldry. 

"Why  do  you  smile,  senor?"  demanded  De 
Guardiola  of  the  gentleman  opposite  him,  this 
being  Sir  Mortimer  Feme. 

"Did  I  smile,  senor?  I  but  chanced  to  think 
of  a  hound  of  mine  who  once  was  king  of  the 
pack,  but  now  grows  old."  The  Englishman 
shrugged.  "  True  he  thinks  himself  yet  the  fleet 
est  and  the  strongest,  but  the  younger  dogs  out 
strip  him.  Presently  they  wrill  snatch  from  him 
every  bone." 

"  Now,  by  the  Mother  of  God,  I  agree  not  with 
you!"  said  De  Guardiola. 

"  Now,  by  the  power  of  God,  yet  will  it  come 
to  pass!"  affirmed  Sir  Mortimer. 

The  Admiral,  to  whom  Pedro  Mexia,  an  easy 
man,  was  making  voluble  narration  of  the  latest 


futile  search  for  Manoa,  turned  his  glance  for  a 
moment  from  that  frank  Spaniard.  But  Morti 
mer  Feme  sat  at  ease,  a  smile  upon  his  beautiful 
mouth,  and  his  hand,  palm  uppermost,  upon  the 
board.  Opposite  him  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola 
also  smiled,  and  if  that  widening  of  the  lips  was 
somewhat  tigerish,  why,  if  all  accounts  were 
true,  the  man  himself  was  of  that  quality,  as 
cruel,  stealthy,  and  remorseless  as  any  jaguar  in 
those  deep  woods  behind  his  castle.  The  Ad 
miral  returned  to  his  discourse  with  Mexia,  who 
might  drop  some  useful  hints  as  to  the  road  to  El 
Dorado. 

"We  have  met  before,"  said  De  Guardiola. 
"  It  was  you  who  led  your  landing-party,  captur 
ing  the  battery." 

"The  fortune  of  war,  senor!  What  says  your 
proverb — ' ' 

"  I  gave  ground,  it  is  true.  .  .  .  There  may  come 
an  hour  when  with  a  whip  of  iron  I  will  drive  you 
from  Nueva  Cordoba.  Did  you  lead  the  attack 
upon  the  town?" 

"  Not  so,  senor.  Sir  John  Nevil  very  valiantly 
held  that  honor,  and  to  him  Nueva  Cordoba 
surrendered." 

114 


11  Last  night — when  I  thought  to  take  you  by 
surprise — were  you  the  leader  then?" 

"Yes,  senor." 

"Wore  you,"  the  Spaniard  spoke  slowly — 
"wore  you  black  armor?  Wore  you  in  your 
helm  a  knot  of  rose-colored  velvet?  .  .  .  Ah,  it 
was  you  unhorsed  me,  then!" 

"Again,  senor,  the  fortune  of  war." 

A  spasm  distorted  for  the  moment  De  Guardi- 
ola's  every  feature.  So  often  of  late  had  chagrin 
been  pressed  to  his  lips  that  the  cup  had  grown 
poisonous.  When  he  spoke  it  was  with  a  hollow 
voice:  "  Had  not  Mexia  come  in  between  us!  ... 
The  light  caught  the  velvet  knot  upon  your 
helm  and  it  flamed  like  a  star.  I,  Luiz  de  Guar- 
diola,  lying  at  your  feet,  looked  up  and  saw  it 
blaze  above  me  like  an  evil  star!"  His  hand  fell 
heavily  upon  the  table.  "The  star  may  fall, 
Englishman!" 

"  The  helm  that  bore  the  star  may  decline  to 
earth,"  answered  Feme.  "The  star  is  fixed — 
beyond  thy  snatching,  Spaniard!" 

Thrust  in  Mexia,  leaving  El  Dorado  for  the 
present  less  gilded  plight  of  the  Spanish:  "Fifty 
thousand  ducats!  Holy  Virgin!  Are  we  Incas 


g>tr   JHnrttmer 

of  Peru — Atahualpas  who  can  fill  a  hall  with 
gold?  Now,  twenty  thousand — " 

"I  will  not  pay  one  peso,"  said  De  Guardiola. 
His  voice,  low  and  vibrant,  was  as  a  warder 
thrown  down.  On  the  instant,  all  the  length  of 
the  table,  the  hurried  speech,  the  growing  ex 
citement,  the  interchange  of  taunt  and  bravado, 
ceased,  and  men  leaned  forward,  waiting.  The 
silence  was  remarkable.  Down  in  the  square 
was  heard  the  sentinel's  tread ;  from  a  bough  that 
drooped  against  the  wall  a  globe  of  vegetable 
gold  fell  with  the  noise  of  stone-shot. 

"Raze  every  house  in  Nueva  Cordoba,"  went 
on  the  Spaniard,  "play  the  earthquake  and  the 
wave — then  sail  away,  sail  away,  marauders! 
and  leave  the  fortress  virgin,  and  the  treasure  no 
lighter  by  one  piece,  and  Luiz  de  Guardiola  to 
find  a  day  when  English  dogs  shall  cringe  before 
him!" 

He  had  risen  from  his  place,  and  at  that  move 
ment  sprang  also  to  their  feet  his  ten  cavaliers. 
At  once  arose  a  tumult  that  might  have  resulted 
in  the  severance  of  the  truce  with  sharp  steel  had 
not  the  leaders  of  the  several  parties  stayed  with 
lifted  arm  and  stern  command  that  threatened 

116 


disgrace.  At  last  was  compelled  a  stillness  sin 
ister  as  that  of  the  air  before  a  storm. 

"I  bid  our  guests  good  night,"  said  the  Ad 
miral.  "Our  enemies  we  shall  meet  again.  I 
think  that  so  slight  a  ransom  will  not  now  con 
tent  us.  As  you  ride  through  the  streets  of  Nu- 
eva  Cordoba  look  your  last,  seriors,  upon  her 
goodly  houses  and  pleasant  places." 

"Do  thy  worst!"  answered  De  Guardiola, 
grinning  like  a  death's-head. 

Mexia  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow. 

"  Let  us  go — let  us  go,  Don  Luiz !  I  stifle  here. 
There's  a  strangeness  in  the  air — my  heart  beats 
to  bursting!  Holy  Teresa,  give  that  the  wrine 
was  not  poisoned!" 

Back  to  their  fortress  rode  the  Spaniards,  up 
the  bare,  steep,  pallid  hillside,  through  the  tunal, 
past  their  strong  battery ;  back  to  the  town  rode 
the  English,  who  with  the  punctilio  of  the  occa 
sion  had  accompanied  their  foes  to  the  base  of 
the  hill.  They  rode  through  the  streets  which 
that  morning  they  had  laid  waste,  and  through 
those  that  the  stern  Admiral  had  sworn  to  de 
stroy.  There  black  ruin  faced  them  starkly; 
here  doomed  things  awaited  mutely.  The  town 
117 


was  little,  and  it  seemed  to  cower  before  them 
like  a  child.  Almost  in  silence  did  they  ride, 
lifted  and  restless  in  mind,  thought  straining  at 
the  leash,  but  finding  no  words  that  should  free 
it. 

"  How  hot  is  the  night!"  spoke  Baldry  at  last. 
"Hast  noticed  the  smell  of  the  earth?  We 
killed  a  great  serpent  coming  across  the  plain 
to-day." 

"How  the  sea  burns!"  said  Henry  Sedley. 
"  There  is  a  will-o'-the-wisp  upon  the  marsh  yon 
der." 

"Here  they  call  it  the  soul  of  the  tyrant 
Aguirre,"  answered  Feme.  "A  lost  soul." 

A  little  longer  and  they  parted  for  the  night  to 
meet  early  next  morning  in  the  council  with  the 
Admiral.  If  to  Nueva  Cordoba,  stripped  and 
beaten,  trembling  beneath  the  fear  of  worse 
things  to  come,  an  army  with  banners  held  the 
land,  so,  in  no  lesser  light,  did  the  English  see 
themselves,  and  they  meant  to  have  the  treasure 
and  to  humble  that  white  fortress.  But  it  must 
be  done  quickly,  quickly!  Pampatar  in  Mar 
garita,  the  castle  of  Paria  or  Berreo's  settlement 
in  Trinidad,  could  send  no  ships  that  might  con- 

118 


g>tr   fB 

tend  with  the  four  swinging  yonder  in  the  river's 
mouth,  but  from  the  west  at  any  hour,  from  La 
Guayra  or  Santa  Marta,  thunderbolts  might  fall. 
Would  they  indeed  be  wholly  victors,  then  a  gen 
eral  and  overwhelming  attack  must  soon  be  plan 
ned,  soon  made. 

Weary  enough  from  the  day's  work,  yet,  when 
he  and  his  fellow  adventurers  had  exchanged 
good  night,  Mortimer  Feme  went  not  to  his 
quarters.  Instead  he  passed  through  a  dim 
corridor  to  the  little  cell-like  room  where  was 
lodged  Master  Francis  Sark,  whom  the  English 
kept  under  surveillance,  and  who,  under  another 
name,  had  given  to  Pedro  Mexia  his  knowledge 
of  English  speech  and  English  history.  What 
persuasion  the  Captain  of  the  Cygnet  used, 
what  bribe  or  promise  or  threat,  what  confidence 
that  there  was  more  to  tell  thereby  like  a  magnet 
compelling  any  wandering  information,  is  not 
known;  nor  is  known  what  hatred  of  his  con 
queror,  of  a  gallant  form  and  a  stainless  name, 
may  have  uncoiled  itself  to  poisonous  ends  in  the 
soul  of  the  small,  smug,  innocent-seeming  man 
to  whom  he  spoke ;  but  at  the  end  of  a  half -hour 

119 


the  Captain  of  the  Cygnet  left  his  prisoner  of  the 
San  Jose,  moved  swiftly  and  lightly  down  the 
corridor  to  his  own  apartment,  where  he  crossed 
to  the  window  and  stood  there  with  his  eyes 
upon  the  fortress  of  Nueva  Cordoba,  rising  shad 
owy  upon  its  shadowy  hill.  So  often  had  he 
looked  upon  it  that  now,  despite  the  night,  he 
saw  with  precision  the  squat,  white  walls,  the 
dark  sweep  of  the  encircling  tunal,  and,  strong 
clasp  for  that  thorny  girdle,  the  too  formidable 
battery  defending  the  one  apparent  opening. 
"Another  path!"  he  said  to  himself.  " Masked 
and  hidden,  unguarded,  known  only  to  their  lead 
ers.  .  .  .  To  come  upon  them  from  the  rear  while, 
catlike,  they  watch  the  highway  yonder!"  His 
breath  came  in  a  long  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "  What 
if  he  lies?  Why  should  he  lie,  seeing  that  he  is 
in  our  power?  But  if  he  does  .  .  ." 

Minutes  passed  and  yet  he  stood  there,  gazing 
with  thoughtful  eyes  at  hill  and  fortress  rising 
above  the  silent  town.  Finally  he  went  over  to 
Robin-a-dale,  asleep  upon  a  pallet,  and  shaking 
him  awake,  bade  the  lad  to  follow  him  but  make 
no  noise.  To  the  sentinels  at  the  great  door,  in 
the  square,  at  the  edge  of  the  town,  he  gave  the 

120 


word  of  the  night,  and  so  issued  with  the  boy 
from  the  huddle  of  flat-roofed  houses,  overhung 
by  palm-trees,  to  the  open  plain. 

Overhead  innumerable  stars,  between  heaven 
and  earth  incalculable  swarms  of  luminous  in 
sects,  from  the  soil  a  heavy  exhalation  as  of 
musk,  here  arid  places,  there  cacti  like  columns, 
like  candelabra,  like  dark  writhing  fingers  thrust 
from  the  teeming  earth; — Robin-a-dale  liked  not 
the  place,  wondered  what  dangerous  errand  his 
master  was  upon,  but  since  he  as  greatly  feared 
as  greatly  loved  the  man  he  served,  cared  not  to 
ask.  Presently  Feme  turned,  and  a  few  mo 
ments  found  them  climbing  the  long  western 
slope  of  the  hill,  above  them  the  dim  outline  of 
the  fortress,  the  dark  fringe  of  the  tunal.  Half 
way  up  they  came  to  a  little  rocky  plateau,  and 
here  Feme  paused,  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
sat  down  upon  a  great  stone  and  looked  out  to 
sea.  He  was  waiting  for  the  moon  to  rise,  for 
with  her  white  ringer  she  must  point  out  that  old 
way  through  the  tunal  of  which  Master  Francis 
Sark  had  told  him.  Was  it  indeed  there?  The 
man,  he  thought,  had  all  the  marks  of  a  liar. 
Again,  why  should  he  lie,  being  in  their  power? — 

121 


unless  treachery  were  so  ingrained  that  it  was  his 
natural  speech.  By  all  the  tokens  Sark  had 
given,  the  opening  should  not  be  fifty  yards 
away.  When  the  moon  rose  he  would  see  for 
himself.  .  .  . 

A  pale  radiance  in  the  east  proclaimed  her  ap 
proach.  Since  wait  he  must  he  waited  patiently, 
and  by  degrees  withdrew  his  mind  from  his  er 
rand  and  from  strife  and  plotting.  The  boy 
crouched  in  silence  beside  him.  There  was  air 
upon  these  heights,  and  the  stir  of  it  made  Robin- 
a-dale  to  shiver.  He  gazed  about  him  fearfully, 
for  it  was  a  dismal  place.  From  behind  those 
piled  rocks,  from  the  shadow  of  those  strange 
trees,  what  things  might  creep  or  spring?  Robin 
thought  it  time  that  the  adventure  were  ended, 
and  had  he  dared  had  said  as  much.  Lights 
were  burning  upon  the  Cygnet  where  she  rode  in 
the  pale  river,  near  to  the  Phcenix,  with  the  Mere 
Honour  and  the  Marigold  just  beyond,  and  there 
came  over  the  boy  a  great  homesickness  for  her 
decks.  He  crept  as  closely  as  he  might  to  her 
Captain,  sitting  there  as  quietly  as  if  the  teeming, 
musky  soil  were  good  Devon  earth,  and  that 
phosphorescent  ocean  the  gray  waves  of  English 

122 


seas,  and  he  laid  his  hand  upon  Sir  Mortimer's 
booted  knee,  and  so  was  somewhat  comforted. 

Upon  Feme,  waiting  in  inaction,  looking  out 
over  the  vast,  dim  panorama  of  earth  and  ocean, 
there  fell,  after  the  fever  and  exaltation,  the 
stress  and  exertion  of  the  past  hours,  a  strange 
mood  of  quiet,  of  dreaming,  and  of  peace.  Sit 
ting  there  in  listless  strength,  he  thought  in 
quietude  and  tenderness  of  other  things  than 
gold,  and  fame,  and  the  fortress  which  must  be 
taken  of  Nueva  Cordoba.  With  his  eyes  upon 
the  gleaming  sea  he  thought  of  Damans  Sedley, 
and  of  Sidney,  and  of  a  day  at  Windsor  when  the 
Queen  had  showed  him  much  favor,  and  of  a 
little,  windy  knoll,  near  to  his  house  of  Feme, 
where,  returning  from  hunting  or  hawking,  he 
was  wont  to  check  his  horse  that  he  might  taste 
the  sweet  and  sprightly  air. 

Now  this  man  waited  at  the  threshold  of  an 
opening  door,  and  like  a  child  his  fancy  gathered 
door-step  flowers,  recking  nothing  of  the  widen 
ing  space  behind,  the  beckoning  hands,  the 
strange  chambers  into  which  shortly  he  must  go. 
Some  faint  and  far  monition,  some  breath  of 
colder  air  may  have  touched  him,  for  now,  like 

123 


a  shriven  man  drowsing  into  death,  his  mind 
dwelt  lightly  upon  all  things,  gazed  quietly  upon 
a  wide,  retreating  landscape,  and  saw  that  great 
and  small  are  one.  He  was  wont  to  think  of 
Damaris  Sedley  with  ardor,  imagining  embraces, 
kisses,  cries  of  love,  sweet  lips,  warm  arms, — but 
to-night  he  seemed  to  see  her  in  a  glass,  some 
what  dimly.  She  stood  a  little  remote,  quiet, 
sweet,  and  holy,  and  his  spirit  chastened  itself 
before  her.  Dear  were  his  friends  to  him;  his 
heart  lodged  them  in  spacious  chambers  and 
lapped  them  with  observance;  now  he  thought 
whimsically  and  lightly  of  his  guests  as  though 
their  lodgings  were  far  removed  from  that  misty 
central  hall  where  he  himself  abode.  Loyal  with 
the  fantastic  loyalty  of  an  earlier  time,  practiser 
of  chivalry  and  Honor's  fanatic,  for  a  moment 
those  things  also  lost  their  saliency  and  edge. 
Word  and  deed  of  this  life  appeared  of  the  sil 
ver  and  the  moonlight,  not  of  gold  and  sunlight ; 
existence  a  dream  and  no  matter  of  moment. 
He  plucked  the  flowers  one  by  one,  looked  at 
them  tranquilly,  and  laid  them  down,  nor 
thought,  This  is  Farewell. 

Nueva  Cordoba  lay  still  amongst  her  rustling 
124 


palms ;  the  ocean  rippled  gold,  and  like  gold-dust 
were  the  scintillating  clouds  of  insects ;  the  limpid 
river  palely  slid  between  its  mangrove  banks,  a 
low  wind  sighed,  a  night-bird  called;  far,  far  in 
the  forest  behind  the  hill  a  muffled  roar  pro 
claimed  that  the  jaguar  had  found  its  meat. 
The  moon  rose — such  a  moon  as  never  had  Eng 
land  looked  tipon.  Pearl,  amethyst,  and  topaz 
were  her  rings;  she  made  the  boss  of  a  vast 
shield;  like  God's  own  candle  she  lit  the  night. 
"At  home  the  nightingales  would  sing,"  thought 
Sir  Mortimer.  "Ah,  Philomela,  here  befits  a 
wilder  song  than  thine !"  He  looked  towards  the 
Cygnet,  still  as  a  painted  ship  upon  the  silver 
sluggish  flood.  "When  there  shall  be  no  more 
sea,  what  will  seamen  do?"  Over  the  marsh 
wandered  the  ignes  fatui.  "  How  restlessly  and 
to  no  bourne  dost  thou  move,  lost  soul!"  The 
boy  at  his  feet  stirred  and  sighed.  * '  Poor  Robin ! 
Tired  and  sleepy  and  frightened,  art  not?  Why, 
dear  knave,  the  jaguar  is  not  roaring  for  thee!" 
Bending,  he  put  an  arm  about  the  lad  and  drew 
him  to  his  side.  "  I  only  wait  for  the  brightness 
to  grow,"  he  said.  "Do  not  shiver  so!  In  a 
little  while  we  shall  be  gone." 

"5 


ilurltmer 

The  moon  rose  higher  and  the  plain  grew 
spectral,  the  town  a  dream  town,  and  the  ships 
dream  ships.  Feme  turned  slightly  so  that  he 
might  behold  the  Cordillera.  In  mystery  and 
enormity  the  mountains  reared  themselves,  high 
as  the  battlements  of  heaven,  deep  as  those  of 
hell.  The  Elizabethan  looked  long  upon  them, 
and  he  wreathed  that  utter  wall,  that  sombre 
and  terrific  keep,  with  strange  imaginings. 

At  last  the  two,  master  and  boy,  arose,  and 
climbing  the  farther  slope  to  the  tunal,  began  to 
skirt  that  spiked  and  thorny  circlet,  moving 
warily  because  to  the  core  it  was  envenomed. 
Beneath  the  sun  it  swarmed  with  hideous  life; 
beneath  the  moon  the  poison  might  yet  stir.  The 
moon  silvered  the  edge  of  things,  drew  illusion 
like  a  veil  across  the  haunted  ring;  below,  what 
hidden  foulness !  .  .  .  Did  the  life  there  know  its 
hideousness?  Those  lengths  and  coils,  those 
twisting  locks  of  Medusa,  might  think  them 
selves  desirable.  These  pulpy,  starkly  branch 
ing  cacti,  these  shrubs  that  bred  poignards,  these 
fibrous  ropes,  dark  and  knotted  lianas,  binding 
all  together  like  monstrous  exaggerations  of  the 
tenants  of  the  place,  like  serpents  seen  of  a 

126 


drunkard,  were  they  not  to  themselves  as  fair  as 
the  fairest  vine  or  tree  or  flower?  The  dwellers 
here  deceived  themselves,  never  dreamed  they 
were  so  thwart  and  distorted. 

As  he  walked,  the  halo  of  the  moon  seemed  to 
widen  until  it  embraced  a  quarter  of  the  heavens. 
The  sea  beneath  was  molten  silver.  A  low 
sound  of  waves  was  in  his  ears,  and  a  wind 
pressed  against  him  faintly,  like  a  ghost's  with 
standing.  From  the  woods  towards  the  moun 
tains  came  a  long,  bestial  cry,  hoarse  and  mourn 
ful.  "  O  God,"  said  Sir  Mortimer,  "  whither  dost 
Thou  draw  us  ?  What  am  I  ?  What  is  my  mean 
ing  and  my  end?" 

Beyond  loomed  the  fortress,  all  its  lineaments 
blurred,  softened,  qualitied  like  a  dream  by  the 
flooding  moonlight.  A  snake  stretching  across 
their  path,  Sir  Mortimer  drew  his  sword,  but  the 
creature  slipped  away,  kept  before  them  for  a 
while,  then  turned  aside  into  its  safe  home. 
They  came  to  the  place  they  were  seeking.  Here 
was  the  cactus,  taller  than  its  fellows,  and  gaunt 
as  a  gallows-tree,  and  here  the  projecting  end  of 
a  fallen  cross.  Between  showed  no  vestige  of  an 
opening;  dark,  impervious,  formidable  as  a  for- 

127 


tress  wall,  the  tunal  met  the  eye.  Feme,  at 
tacking  it  with  his  sword,  thrust  aside  a  heavy 
curtain  of  broad-leaved  vine,  came  upon  a  net 
work  of  thorn  and  spike  and  prickly  leaf,  hewed 
this  away,  to  find  behind  it  a  like  barrier.  Evi 
dently  the  man  had  lied! — to  what  purpose  Sir 
Mortimer  Feme  would  presently  make  it  his 
business  to  discover.  .  .  .  There  overtook  him  a 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  depression  of  spirit, 
cold  and  sick  distaste  of  the  place.  Torn  and 
breathless,  in  very  savagery  over  his  defeated 
hope  and  fool's  errand,  he  thrust  with  all  his 
strength  at  the  heart  of  this  panoplied  foe.  His 
blade,  piercing  the  swart  curtain,  met  with  no 
resistance.  With  an  exclamation  he  threw  him 
self  against  that  thick-seeming  barrier,  and  so, 
with  Robin-a-dale  behind  him,  burst  into  a  nar 
row,  secret  way,  masked  at  entrance  and  exit, 
and  winding  like  a  serpent  through  the  tunal 
which  surrounded  the  fortress  of  Nueva  Cordoba. 


VI 


rOW  Neptune  keep  the  plate- 
fleet  at  Cartagena  !"  whistled 
Arden.  "  When  I  go  home 
I'll  dress  in  cloth  of  gold,  eat 
tongues  of  peacocks,  and  drink 
dissolved  pearls!" 

"  When  I  go  home  I'll  build  again  my  father's 
house,"  cried  Henry  Sedley. 

"  In  Plymouth  port  there's  a  bark  I  know," 
quoth  Baldry.  "  When  I  go  home  she's  mine,— 
I'll  make  of  her  another  Star!" 

"When  I  go  home—  "  said  Sir  Mortimer,  and 
paused.  The  early  light  was  on  his  face,  a  deeper 
light  within  his  eyes  that  saw  the  rose  which  he 
should  gather  when  he  went  home.  Then,  since 
he  would  not  utter  so  deep  and  dear  a  thought— 
"When  we  go  home,"  he  said,  and  began  to 
speak — half  in  earnest,  half  in  relief  from  the 
gravity  of  the  past  council — of  that  returning. 
By  degrees  the  fire  burned,  and  he  whose  spirit 

129 


the  live  coal  touched  as  it  touched  Sidney's  and, 
more  rarely,  Walter  Raleigh's,  bore  his  listeners 
with  him  in  a  rhapsody  of  anticipation.  Long 
fronds  of  palm  drooped  without  the  room  which 
held  them,  Englishmen  in  a  world  or  savage  or 
Spanish,  but  their  spirits  followed  the  speaker 
to  green  fields  of  Kent  or  Devon.  They  saw  the 
English  summer,  saw  the  twilight  fall,  heard  the 
lonely  tinkle  of  far  sheep-bells,  heard  the  night 
ingales  singing  beneath  the  moon  that  shone  on 
England.  Friends'  homes  opened  to  them; 
Grenville  welcomed  them  to  Stowe,  Sidney  to 
charmed  Penshurst.  Then  to  London  and  the 
Triple.  Tun!  Bow  Bells  rang  for  them;  they 
drank  in  the  inn's  long-room;  their  names  were 
in  men's  mouths.  What  welcome,  what  clash 
ing  of  the  bells,  when  they  should  sail  up  the 
Thames  again — the  Mere  Honour,  the  Cygnet, 
the  Marigold,  and  the  Phcenix — with  treasure  in 
their  holds,  and  for  pilot  that  bright  angel  Fame! 
What  should  they  buy  with  their  treasure?  what 
should  they  do  with  their  fame?  Treasure 
should  beget  stout  ships,  stout  hearts  to  sail 
them;  fame,  laid  to  increase,  might  swell  to 
deathless  glory!  Sea-captains  now,  sea-kings 

130 


would  the  English  be,  gathering  tribute  from  the 
waters  and  the  winds,  bringing  gifts  to  England 
—frankincense  of  wealth,  myrrh  of  knowledge, 
spikenard  of  power! — till,  robed  and  crowned, 
she  rose  above  the  peoples,  Joseph's  sheaf,  Jo 
seph's  star! 

On  went  the  charmed  words,  each  a  lantern 
flashed  on  thought,  grave,  poetic,  telling  of  tri 
umph,  yet  far  removed  from  gross  optimism,  not 
without  that  strange,  melancholy  note  sounding 
now  and  again  amongst  the  age's  crashing 
chords.  Abruptly  his  voice  fell,  but  presently 
with  a  lighter  note  he  broke  the  silence  in  which 
his  listeners  gazed  upon  the  stately  vision  he  had 
conjured  up.  "Ah,  we  will  talk  to  Frank  Drake 
of  this  night !  Canst  not  hear  Richard  Hawkins 
laugh  in  the  Triple  Tun's  long -room?  The 
Queen,  too,  in  her  palace  will  laugh, — like  a  man 
with  the  flash  in  her  eye  and  her  white  hand 
clenched!  And  they  whom  we  love.  .  .  .  What 
is  the  word  for  to-night,  John  Nevil?  I  may 
give  it  ?  Then— Dione !' ' 

It  was  the  red  dawn  after  his  vigil  on  the  for 
tress  hill:  in  the  great  room  of  the  stone  house 
the  leaders  of  the  expedition  had  followed,  line 


by  line,  his  sword  point  as  it  drew  upon  the 
flagging  a  plan  of  attack,  to  which  they  gave 
instant  adoption ;  Master  Francis  Sark  had  been 
dismissed,  and  to  the  Admiral's  grave  hint  of 
possible  treachery  Feme  had  answered,  "Ay, 
John  Nevil,  I  also  think  him  a  false-hearted 
craven,  Spaniolated  and  perverse,  a  huckster, 
whose  wares  do  go  to  the  highest  bidder !  Well, 
with  our  hand  at  his  throat  we  do  not  bid  the 
highest?" 

Now  as  he  raised  his  tankard  to  thirsty  lips, 
suddenly  from  the  square  below,  shattering  all 
the  languid  stillness  of  the  tropic  dawn,  brayed 
a  trumpet,  arose  a  noise  of  hurrying  steps 
and  hasty  voices.  Baldry,  at  the  window, 
wheeled,  color  in  his  cheeks,  light  in  his  deep 
eyes. 

"  War  is  my  mistress !  Down  the  hillside  come 
those  to  whom  I  can  speak — can  speak  as  well  as 
thou,  Sir  Mortimer  Feme!"  The  door  was  flung 
open,  and  Ambrose  Wynch,  a  mighty  man  in  a 
battered  breastplate  and  morion,  looked  joyfully 
in  upon  them. 

"  The  Dons  supped  so  well  last  night,  Sir  John, 
that  now  they're  coming  to  breakfast!  'Tis  just 

132 


a  flourish — no  great  sortie.  Shall  a  handful  of 
us  go  out  against  them?" 

That  sally  from  the  fortress  was  led  by  Mexia, 
who  somewhat  burned  to  wipe  out  the  memory 
of  his  lost  battery  at  the  river's  mouth.  And  as 
blind  Fortune's  dearest  favor  flutters  often  to 
the  lackey  while  the  master  snatches  vainly,  so 
it  befell  in  this  case,  for  Mexia's  chance  raid,  a 
piece  of  mere  bravado  to  which  De  Guardiola  had 
given  grudging  consent,  was  productive  of  results. 
Bravado  for  bravado,  interchange  of  chivalric 
folly,  of  magnificence  that  was  not  war, — forth 
to  meet  the  Spaniard  and  his  company  must  go 
no  greater  force  of  Englishmen!  Luiz  de  Guar 
diola,  Governor  of  Nueva  Cordoba,  kept  his  state 
in  his  fortress ;  therefore,  Sir  John  Nevil,  Admiral 
of  the  English  and  of  no  less  worth  than  the 
Castilian,  remained  for  this  skirmish  inac 
tive.  On  both  sides  their  captains  played  the 
game. 

Sir  Mortimer  Feme  and  Robert  Baldry  at  the 
head  of  threescore  men,  some  mounted,  some  on 
foot,  deemed  themselves  and  this  medley  suffi 
cient  for  Pedro  Mexia.  Nor  can  it  be  said  that 
their  reckoning  was  at  fault,  since  Mexia,  deep 

133 


in  curses,  had  at  last  to  make  hasty  way  across 
the  strip  of  plain  between  Nueva  Cordoba  and 
its  fortress.  Too  easily  did  the  English  repel  an 
idle  sortie,  too  eagerly  did  they  follow  Mexia  in 
retreat,  for  suddenly  Chance,  leaving  all  neu 
trality,  threw  herself,  a  goddess  armed,  upon  the 
Spanish  side.  In  the  very  shadow  of  the  hill, 
the  mounted  English,  well  ahead  of  those  on  foot, 
Mexia's  disordered  band  making  for  the  shelter 
of  the  tunal,  a  Spaniard  turned,  raised  his  har 
quebus  and  fired.  The  great  bay  steed  which 
bore  Sir  Mortimer  Feme  reared,  screamed,  then 
fell,  hurling  its  rider  to  earth,  where  he  lay, 
senseless,  stark  in  black  armor,  with  a  knot  of 
rose-colored  velvet  in  his  crest. 

No  hawk  like  De  Guardiola  was  Pedro  Mexia, 
but  when  luck  pinioned  his  prey  his  talons  were 
strong  to  close  upon  it.  Now  on  the  instant  he 
wheeled,  swooped  with  all  his  might  upon  the 
disordered  vanguard  of  the  English.  Baldry 
and  those  with  him  fought  madly,  the  English 
on  foot  made  all  haste;  the  prostrate  figure, 
pinned  beneath  the  dying  bay,  became  the  cen 
tre  of  a  wild  mel^e,  the  hotly  contested  prize  of 
friend  and  foe !  Then  burst  from  the  tunal,  came 

134 


at   a   run   down   the   hill,   re-enforcements  for 
Mexia.  .  .  . 

Erelong,  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola  sent  to  inform 
Sir  John  Nevil  that  he  had  for  his  prisoner  one 
of  the  latter's  captains.  It  appeared  to  the  Gov 
ernor  of  Nueva  Cordoba  that  the  English  held  the 
man  in  some  esteem, — perchance  even  that  he 
was  their  leader's  close  friend.  Sir  John  Nevil 
would  understand  that  to  a  Spanish  soldier  and 
good  son  of  the  Church  the  prisoner  was,  inevi 
tably,  mere  pirate  and  heretic,  to  be  dealt  with 
as  such. 

To  this  announcement  John  Nevil  returned 
curt  answer.  Nueva  Cordoba  lay  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand,  and  at  his  disposal  were  some  Span 
ish  lives  perhaps  not  altogether  valueless  in  the 
eyes  of  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola,  since  their  kindred 
and  friends  and  Spain  herself  might  hold  him  re 
sponsible  for  their  sudden  and  piteous  taking  off. 

When  an  hour  had  dragged  itself  away  the 
fortress  spoke  again,  and  its  speech  was  of  a  piece 
with  the  Governor's  mind.  The  peril  of  the 
town  and  the  lives  within  it  were  ignored.  Blunt 
ly,  the  price  of  Sir  Mortimer  Feme's  life  was  this 
— and  this — and  this ! 

135 


The  Admiral  made  reply  that  Honor  was  too 
dear  a  price  for  the  life  of  any  English  gentle 
man.  He  and  Sir  Mortimer  Feme  declined  the 
terms  of  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola.  The  safety  of 
his  friend  should,  however,  ransom  a  city.  De 
liver  the  captive  sound  in  life  and  limb,  and  the 
English  would  withdraw  from  Nueva  Cordoba, 
and  proceed  with  their  ships  upon  their  way. 
Reject  this  offer,  let  harm  befall  the  prisoner, 
and  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola  should  see  how  John 
Nevil  mourned  his  friends! 

The  Governor  answered  that  his  terms  held. 
The  evening  before,  the  English  leader  had  been 
pleased  to  announce  that  if  by  moonrise  of  this 
night  he  had  not  in  hand  fifty  thousand  ducats, 
Nueva  Cordoba  should  lie  in  ashes;  now  Don 
Luiz  de  Guardiola,  more  generous,  gave  Sir  John 
Nevil  until  the  next  sunrise  to  heap  upon  the 
quay  at  the  Bocca  all  gold  and  silver,  all  pearls, 
jewels,  wrought  work  and  other  treasure  stolen 
from  the  King  of  Spain,  to  withdraw  every  Eng 
lish  soul  from  the  galleon  San  Jose,  leaving  her 
safe  anchored  in  the  river  and  above  her  the 
Spanish  flag,  to  abandon  town  and  battery  and 
retire  to  his  ships,  under  oath,  upon  the  delivery 

136 


to  him  of  the  prisoner,  to  quit  at  once  and  for 
ever  these  seas.  Did  the  first  beams  of  the  sun 
find  the  English  yet  in  Nueva  Cordoba,  then 
the  light  should  also  behold  the  death  with  igno 
miny  of  the  prisoner. 

"He  will  not  die  with  ignominy,"  spoke  the 
Admiral  when  the  herald  had  come  and  gone. 
"Death  cannot  wear  a  form  so  base  that  he, 
nobly  dying,  will  not  ennoble." 

"Do  you  purpose,  then,  that  he  shall  die?" 
demanded  Baldry,  roughly. 

"  I  purpose  that  if  he  lives  I  may  look  him  in 
the  face,"  answered  the  other.  "We  may  not 
buy  his  life  with  the  dishonor  of  us  all."  His 
stern  face  working,  he  covered  his  bearded  lips 
with  his  hand.  "But  as  God  lives,  he  shall  not 
die!  We  have  until  the  next  sunrising." 

"  There  is  more  in  it  than  meets  the  eye,"  said 
Arden.  "These  monstrous  conditions!  .  .  .  One 
would  say  that  the  Spaniard  means  there  shall 
be  no  rescue." 

Henry  Sedley  broke  in  passionately.  "Ay, 
that  is  it!  Did  you  not  hear  their  talk  last 
night?" 

"  For  many  a  year,  as  I  have  gone  jostling  up 
137 


&ir   Haritmer 

and  down,  I  have  studied  the  faces  of  men,"  pur 
sued  Arden.  "  With  this  Governor  the  cart 
draws  the  horse,  and  his  particular  quarrel  takes 
precedence  of  his  public  duty.  I  think  that  in 
the  wreaking  of  a  grudge  he  would  stand  at 
nothing." 

The  Admiral  paced  the  floor.  Arden,  eying 
him,  spoke  again  with  emotion. 

"  Mortimer  Feme  is  as  dear  to  me  as  to  you, 
John  Nevil!  ...  I  think  of  the  men  of  the  Minion 
and  of  John  Oxenham." 

In  the  silence  that  followed  his  words  each 
man  had  his  vision  of  the  men  of  the  Minion  and 
of  John  Oxenham.  Then  Baldry  spoke,  roughly 
and  loudly,  as  was  his  wont : 

"  I  think  not  of  the  dead,  for  whom  there's  no 
help.  For  the  living  man,  he  and  I  have  yet  to 
meet!  There  is  to-night — there  is  the  path  he 
found — no  doubt  he  counts  upon  our  attacking 
as  was  planned!  He  is  subtle  with  his  words- 
no  doubt  he'll  hold  them  off — insinuate — make 
them  look  only  to  the  seaward— 

The  Admiral,  coming  to  the  table,  leaned  his 
weight  upon  it.  "  Gentlemen,  you  all  do  know 
that  this  is  my  friend,  whom  I  love  as  David  of 

138 


DO     YOU     PURPOSE,     THEN,     THAT     HE     SHALL     DIE  ?' 
DEMANDED    BALDRY  " 


old  loved  Jonathan.  Of  the  value  of  his  life,  of 
that  great  promise  which  his  death  would  cut 
short,  I  will  not  speak.  I  also  think  that  this 
Governor,  believing  himself,  the  treasure,  and 
his  men-at-arms  secure,  careth  naught  for  the 
town  whose  protector  he  is  called.  Therefore 
an  we  would  save  the  man  who  is  dear  to  us  and 
to  England  from  I  know  not  what  fate,  from  the 
fate  perhaps  of  John  Oxenham,  this  night  must 
we  take  by  storm  the  fortress,  using  the  plan  of 
attack,  the  hour,  ay  and  the  word  of  the  night, 
which  he  gave  us.  If  it  is  now  less  simple  a 
thing,  if  this  Spaniard  will  surely  keep  watch  and 
ward  to-night,  yet  there  is  none  to  tell  him  that, 
offering  at  his  face,  we  do  mean  to  strike  him  in 
the  back.  If  our  onslaught  be  but  swift  and 
furious  enough  we  may,  God  willing,  bring  forth 
in  triumph  both  the  treasure  and  the  man  whose 
welfare  so  outweighs  the  treasure." 

"  Amen  to  that,"  answered  Arden ;  "but  I  have 
a  boding  spirit.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  blessed 
sun  himself  hath  shrunken,  and  I  would  I  might 
wring  the  neck  of  yonder  yelling  bird ! .  .  .  That 
Englishman,  that  Francis  Sark  —  he  is  well 
guarded?" 

139 


"  Ralph  Walter  guards  him,"  said  the  Admiral, 
briefly.  "There  is  but  the  one  door — the  win 
dow  is  barred  and  too  narrow  for  the  passage  of 
a  child.  .  .  .  Yea,  I  grant,  as  did  Mortimer  Feme, 
his  knavery,  but  now,  as  nearly  as  we  can  sail  to 
the  wind  of  the  truth,  the  man,  desiring  restitu 
tion  and  reward,  speaks  plain  honesty." 

"He  spoke  'plain  honesty'  after  the  taking  of 
the  San  Jose"  muttered  Arden.  "  Yet  we  found 
a  hawk  where  we  looked  for  a  wren's  nest.  Oh, 
I  grant  you  there  were  explanations  enough  to 
stand  between  him  and  the  yard-arm,  and  that 
Fortune,  having  turned  her  wheel  in  our  favor, 
apparently  left  her  industry  and  fell  asleep! 
She  awakened  this  morning." 

"  Wring  thine  own  neck  for  a  bird  of  ill  omen !" 
began  Baldry,  to  be  cut  short  by  the  Admiral's 
grave  "Where  all's  danger,  whatever  course  we 
shape,  who  gives  a  safer  chart?"  Then,  as  no 
one  spoke:  "To  our  loss  we  have  found  both 
shoal  and  reef  between  us  and  yonder  castle. 
Think  you  not  that  I  know,  as  knew  Sir  Mortimer 
Feme,  that  we  are  shown  a  doubtful  channel  by 
a  shifty  pilot?  But  beyond  is  the  open  sea  of  all 
our  hopes.  Fortune  and  her  wheel,  Giles  Ar- 

140 


&tr   fH 

den! — nay,  rather  God  and  His  hand  over  the 
issues  of  life  and  death!" 

Up  in  his  white  fortress  that  same  hour  De 
Guardiola  heard  in  silence  the  Admiral's  message 
of  defiance,  then  when  he  and  Mexia  were  again 
alone  frowned  thoughtfully  over  a  slip  of  paper 
which  by  devious  ways  had  shortly  before 
reached  his  hand.  With  all  their  vigilance  not 
every  hole  and  crevice  could  the  English  stop; 
Spanish  was  the  town  and  Spanish  the  over 
hanging  fortress,  and  the  former  was  the  place 
of  many  women  and  priests.  The  conquerors 
strove  to  secure  the  place  as  with  a  fowler's  net, 
yet  now  and  again  a  bird  of  the  air  fluttered 
through  their  meshes.  The  paper  which  Don 
Luiz  held  ran  as  follows:  "May  not  a  country 
man  of  heretics  choose  his  own  king?  When 
Death  peers  too  closely — as  was  the  case  upon 
the  galleon  San  Jose — may  not  a  man  turn  his 
coat  and  send  Death  seeking  elsewhere?  Death 
gone  by,  may  not  the  man  be  willing  (if  it  be  so 
that  he  is  not  well  entreated  of  his  new  masters) 
to  take  again  the  colors  to  which  on  a  Corpus 
Christi  day  of  which  you  wot  he  swore  fealty? 

141 


At  sunrise  this  morning  the  English  laid  toils  for 
you.  I  have  knowledge  to  sell.  Will  you  buy 
my  wares  with  five  thousand  pesos  of  silver  and 
the  letter  to  Cartagena  which  I  desired?  ...  I 
wrap  this  in  a  fig-leaf  and  drop  it  from  the  win 
dow  to  Dolores  laughing  with  the  seamen  below. 
If  you  will  buy,  then  raise  above  the  battery  a 
pennant  of  red  that  may  be  seen  from  the  room 
with  the  hidden  door  in  the  Friar's  House." 

"The  dog!  I  thought  that  he  perished  with 
Antonio  de  Castro!"  spoke  Mexia. 

"That  he  did  not,"  answered  the  Governor. 
"  He  is  so  false  that  were  there  none  else  with 
whom  to  play  the  traitor,  his  right  hand  would 
betray  his  left.  .  .  .  The  English  called  him 
Francis  Sark." 

"You'll  pay?" 

"  He  shall  think  I'll  pay,"  said  the  other.  "  So 
they  lay  their  toils! — it  needs  not  this  paper  to 
tell  me  that;"  he  tapped  it  as  it  lay  before  him. 
"Somewhat  will  this  Englishman,  this  Nevil, 
do  to-night.  He  hath  his  game  in  his  mind, — 
his  hand  on  this  piece,  his  eye  on  that,  these 
pawns  in  reserve,  those  advanced  for  action." 
De  Guardiola  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  stud- 

142 


ied  the  ceiling.  "Ha,  Pedro!  we  must  discover 
what  he  would  do!  When  I  know  his  disposi 
tions,  blessed  Mother  of  God,  what  check  may  I 
not  give  him!" 

"But  if  Desmond  escapes  not,"  began  the 
duller  Mexia,  "we  may  learn  not  at  all,  or  we 
may  learn  too  late.  Then  all's  conjecture. 
They  fight  like  fiends,  and  day  by  day  we  lose. 
What  if  they  overbear  us  yet?" 

Don  Luiz  brought  his  gaze  from  the  ceiling  to 
meet  the  look  of  the  lesser  man.  Mexia  fidgeted, 
at  last  burst  forth:  "There  are  times  when  the 
devil  dwells  in  your  eye  and  upon  your  lip! 
Twas  so  you  smiled  in  the  Valdez  matter  and 
when  that  slave  girl  died !  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Mean?"  answered  De  Guardiola,  still  smil 
ing.  "I  mean,  my  friend,  that  we  must  know 
what  traps  they  bait  down  yonder."  He  called 
to  those  who  waited  without,  wrote  an  order  and 
sent  it  to  the  officer  in  command  at  the  battery. 
"Up  goes  one  traitor's  signal!  .  .  .  Good  Pedro, 
when  Fate  gives  to  you  your  enemy ;  says,  '  Now ! 
Revenge  yourself  to  the  uttermost!' — what  do 
you  do?" 

143 


"Why,  I  take  his  life,"  answered  Mexia. 
"Then  shall  he  trouble  me  no  more." 

"Now  I,"  said  Don  Luiz,  "I  give  him  memo 
ries  of  me.  Mayhap  the  dead  do  not  remember. 
So  live  my  foe !  but  live  in  hell,  remembering  the 
brand  upon  thy  soul  and  that  it  was  I  who  set  it 
glowing  there!" 

"Well,  I  am  thy  friend,  am  I  not?"  quoth 
Mexia,  comfortably.  "I  am  not  Englishman 
nor  Valdez  nor  Cimmaroon  slave,  and  so  I  fear 
not  thy  smile.  It  is  twelve  of  the  clock.  ...  Do 
you  think  that  Desmond  knows  so  much?" 

"Not  more  than  one  other,"  answered  De 
Guardiola,  and  called  for  a  flask  of  wine. 

The  day  wore  on  in  heat  and  light,  white  glare 
from  the  hill,  and  from  the  sea  fierce  gleams  of 
blue  steel.  The  coasts  loomed,  the  plain  moved 
in  the  hot  air.  Here  the  plain  was  arid,  and 
there  yellow  flowers  turned  it  to  a  ragged  Field 
of  Cloth  of  Gold.  The  gaunt  cacti  stood  rigid, 
and  the  palms  made  no  motion  where  they 
dropped  against  the  blue.  In  cohorts  to  and  fro 
went  the  colored  birds;  along  the  sandy  shores, 
rose  pink  and  scarlet  and  white,  crowded  the 
flamingoes.  Crept  on  the  noonday  stillness; 

144 


came  the  slow  afternoon,  the  sun  declined,  and 
every  hour  of  that  day  had  been  long,  long! 
One  would  have  said  that  it  was  the  longest  day 
of  the  year.  Throughout  it,  dominant  upon  its 
ascending  ground,  white,  impregnable,  and  si 
lent  as  a  sepulchre,  rose  the  fortress.  Before 
the  fortress,  slumberous  also,  couched  the  long, 
low  fortification  of  stone  and  earthwork  com 
manding  in  its  turn  the  road  through  the  tunal. 
In  the  town  below,  alcalde  and  friar  waited  trem 
bling  upon  the  English  Admiral  with  representa 
tions  that  the  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained. 
The  slight  rills  of  gold  yet  hidden  in  Nueva  Cor 
doba  burst  forth  and  began  to  flow  fast  and 
more  fast  towards  the  English  quarters.  From 
the  churches,  Dominican  and  Franciscan,  wailed 
the  miserere,  and  the  women  and  children  trem 
bled  beneath  the  roofs  which  at  any  moment 
might  no  longer  give  them  sanctuary.  For  all 
the  blazing  sunshine,  the  place  began  to  wear  a 
look  of  doom. 

During  the  day  the  English  dragged  Mexia's 
conquered  guns  to  the  edge  of  the  town,  and 
under  their  cover  threw  up  earthworks  and  plant 
ed  their  artillery  where  it  might  speak  with  effect . 

145 


i!0rtim*r 

Spanish  soldiery  appeared  before  the  battery, 
and,  according  to  the  tactics  of  the  time,  began 
to  make  thorny  with  abattis,  poisoned  stakes, 
and  other  devices  the  way  of  the  enemy  across 
the  open  space  which  it  guarded.  English 
marksmen  picked  them  off,  others  took  their 
place;  they  falling  also,  one  great  gun  from  the 
fort  bellowed  defiance.  Its  echoes  ceasing,  si 
lence  again  wrapped  the  white  ascent  and  all  that 
crowned  it.  For  days  now  each  antagonist  had 
that  knowledge  of  the  other  that  ammunition 
was  the  pearl  of  price  only  to  be  fully  shown  by 
warrant  of  circumstance. 

The  sun  in  sinking  cast  a  strange  light.  It 
stained  the  sea,  and  the  air  so  partook  of  that 
glow  that  town  and  fortress  sprang  into  red  sig 
nificance.  The  river  also,  where  swung  the 
dark  ships,  was  ensanguined,  as  was  every  ripple 
upon  the  shore,  where  now  the  birds  grew  very 
clamorous.  There  were  no  clouds ;  only  the  red 
ball  of  the  sun  descending,  and  a  clear  field  for 
the  stars.  The  evening  wind  arose;  at  last  the 
day  died ;  unheralded  by  any  dusk,  on  came  the 
night.  Color  of  blood  changed  to  color  of  gold, 
gleamed  and  glistened  the  sea,  sparkled  the  fire- 

146 


£tr   Mortimer 

flies,  shone  the  deep  stars ;  over  the  marsh  flared 
the  will-o'-the-wisp  like  a  torch  lit  to  bad  ends. 
Nueva  Cordoba  was  held  by  two-thirds  of  the 
English  force;  now  for  the  Spaniards'  greater 
endangering  down  from  each  ship's  side  came, 
man  by  man,  wellnigh  all  of  that  division  which 
looked  to  the  safety  of  the  fleet.  So  great  was 
the  prize,  so  intolerable  any  idea  of  defeated 
purpose,  that  for  this  night — this  night  only— 
the  balances  could  not  be  evenly  held.  Precau 
tion  lifted  from  one  side  added  weight  to  the 
other,  and  the  borrowing  from  Peter  became  of 
less  moment  than  the  paying  of  Paul.  Day  by 
day,  north  and  east  and  west,  watchmen  in  the 
tops  of  the  Mere  Honour,  the  Cygnet,  the  Mari 
gold,  and  the  Ph&nix  had  seen  no  hostile  sail 
upon  the  bland  and  smiling  ocean.  The  river 
ran  in  mazes;  undulating  like  a  serpent  it  came 
from  hidden  sources,  and  its  heavy  borders  of 
tamarind  and  mangrove  sent  long  shadows  out 
towards  midstream.  The  watchmen  looked  to 
the  river  also ;  but  no  greater  thing  ever  appeared 
than  some  Indian  canoe  gliding  down  from  illim 
itable  forests.  Now  the  ships  were  left  maimed 
for  what  was  meant  to  be  the  briefest  while. 

147 


The  sick  manned  them ;  together  with  a  handful 
of  the  unhurt  they  looked  down  from  the  decks 
and  whispered  envious  farewells  to  their  com 
rades  in  the  boats  below.  High  above  the  boats 
towered  the  black  hulls;  the  topmasts  over 
looked  sea  and  land;  the  bold  figureheads,  that 
had  drunk  the  brine  of  many  a  storm  and  looked 
unmoved  upon  strange  sights,  gazed  into  the 
darkness  with  inscrutable,  blank  eyes. 

Silently  the  boats  made  landing,  swiftly  and 
silently  through  the  darkness  two  hundred  men 
crossed  the  little  plain,  and  their  leader  was  Rob 
ert  Baldry.  Out  from  Nueva  Cordoba,  stealing 
through  the  ruined  and  depopulated  quarter  of 
the  town,  came  a  shadowy  band,  and  they  from 
the  town  and  they  from  the  river  met  at  the  base 
of  the  long,  westward  slope  of  the  hill.  Thence 
they  climbed  to  the  rocky  plateau  where,  the 
night  before,  Sir  Mortimer  Feme  had  made 
pause.  Here  they  halted,  while  Henry  Sedley 
and  ten  men  went  on  to  the  tunal  as,  the  night 
before,  one  man  had  gone.  By  the  signs  that 
Feme  had  given  them  they  found  the  entrance 
which  they  sought,  and  when  they  had  thrust 
aside  the  curtain  of  branch  and  vine,  saw  the 

148 


f&artimtt 

clearing  through  the  tunal.  It  lay  beneath  the 
stars,  a  narrow  defile  much  overgrown,  walled 
on  either  side  by  impenetrable  wood.  On  went 
Sedley  and  his  men,  cautiously,  silently,  until 
they  had  wellnigh  pierced  the  tunal,  that  was 
scarce  wider,  indeed,  than  an  English  copse. 
Before  them,  quiet  as  the  tomb,  rose  the  fortress 
— no  sound  save  their  stealthy  movement  and 
the  stir  of  the  life  that  was  native  to  the  woods, 
no  sign  of  sentience  other  than  their  own.  Back 
they  went  to  the  plateau  and  made  report,  then 
with  Baldry  and  half  of  all  the  English  force 
waited  for  the  Admiral's  attack  upon  that  not 
able  fortification  which  guarded  the  known  en 
trance  through  the  tunal. 

Rising  ground  and  the  bulk  of  the  fortress  hid 
from  them  the  battery;  they  would  hear,  not 
see,  John  Nevil's  onslaught,  so  now  they  watched 
the  east  for  the  silver  signal  of  attack.  Not  long 
did  they  watch.  Above  the  waters  the  firma 
ment  became  milk  white;  an  argent  line  ap 
peared,  thickened: — one  moment  of  the  moon, 
then  tumult,  shouting,  the  blast  of  a  trumpet, 
the  sound  of  small  arms,  and  the  roar  of  those 
guns  which  must  be  rushed  upon  and  silenced! 

149 


Noises  of  bird  and  beast  had  the  tropic  night, 
all  the  warfare  and  the  wrangling  with  which 
life  exacts  tribute  from  life,  but  now  the  feud 
of  man  with  man  voiced  itself  to  the  stars. 
So  great  and  stern  was  the  uproar  that  it 
seemed  as  though  John  Nevil  might  over- 
sweep  with  his  iron  determination  that  too  for 
midable  battery  and  unaided  seize  upon  the 
fortress. 

No  tarrying  after  the  burst  of  sound  and  light 
made  Baldry  and  his  men.  Up  the  steep  ground 
they  swept  towards  that  pale,  invulnerable  cas 
tle  borne  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  faintly 
outlined  against  the  pallid  east.  On  they  came, 
a  long  thin  line  of  men  of  England  to  that  secret 
path  through  the  tunal.  Devon  was  there,  and 
Kent  and  Sussex,  and  many  a  goodly  shire  be 
side.  Men  of  land-fights  and  of  sea-fights  were 
they,  and  of  old  adventures  to  alien  countries, 
strong  of  heart  and  frame,  and  very  fiercely 
minded  towards  the  fortress  of  Nueva  Cordoba. 
It  withheld  from  them  the  gold  they  wanted, 
and  now  within  its  grasp  was  a  life  they  valued. 
To-night  their  will  was  set  to  take  the  one  and 
rescue  the  other.  They  saw  the  treasure  heaped 

150 


and  gleaming,  and  they  saw  the  face  and  waved 
hand  of  Mortimer  Feme.  They  heard  him  laugh 
and  gayly  cry  his  thanks. 

They  entered  the  defile.  To  the  right  and  the 
left  rose  the  impenetrable  wood;  before  them 
wound  a  path  thorny  and  difficult,  where  not 
more  than  three  men  might  go  abreast ;  beyond, 
was  the  mass  of  the  fortress.  On  through  the 
impeding  growth,  where  passage  was  just  possi 
ble,  rushed  Baldry  and  his  men.  The  way  was 
not  long,  larger  loomed  the  fortress,  louder  grew 
the  noise  of  attack  and  defence.  At  last  the  edge 
of  the  tunal  was  reached,  and  they  in  the  van, 
freed  from  hindrance  and  delay,  sprang  forward 
over  open  ground,  marked  here  and  there  by 
low  bushes  and  some  trailing  growth,  sweeping 
around  the  fortress  to  the  rear  of  the  battery, 
and  apparently  of  a  solidity  with  the  universal 
frame  of  things. 

Suddenly,  beneath  the  footing  of  the  foremost, 
the  earth  gave  way  and  a  line  of  men  stumbled, 
and  pitched  forward  into  a  trench  which  had  been 
digged,  which  had  been  planted  with  pointed 
stakes,  which  had  been  cunningly  covered  over 
by  a  leafy  roof  so  thin  that  a  child  had  broken 


fHnrttuirr 

through.  Not  until  towards  the  sunset  of  that 
day  had  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola  received  infor 
mation  which  enabled  him  to  lay  snares,  but 
since  that  hour  he  had  worked  with  frantic 
haste.  Now  he  knew  the  moment  when  his 
springe  would  be  trodden  upon,  the  number  of 
them  who  would  come  stealthily  through  the 
tunal  to  that  gin,  the  nature  of  Nevil's  attack 
upon  the  front,  what  guard  had  been  left  in  the 
town,  what  upon  the  ships.  His  information 
was  minute  and  accurate,  and,  hawk  and  ser 
pent,  he  acted  upon  it  with  fierceness  and  with 
guile. 

The  onward  rush  of  the  English  had  been  im 
petuous.  They  in  the  rear  of  the  first  upon  that 
frail  bridge,  unable  to  stay  their  steps,  plunged 
also  into  the  trench;  those  who  were  latest  to 
clear  the  tunal  surged  forward  in  consternation 
and  confusion.  Suddenly,  from  a  low  earth 
work  hastily  raised  in  the  shadow  of  the  fortress 
wall,  and  masked  by  bushes,  burst  a  withering 
fire  of  chain-shot  from  cannon  and  culverin,  of 
slighter  missiles  from  falcon  and  bastard  and 
saker,  caliver  and  harquebus.  The  trench,  dug 
in  a  half-circle,  either  end  touching  the  tunal, 

152 


&tr    fBnrtiutrr 

made  with  the  space  it  enclosed,  and  which 
was  now  crowded  by  the  English,  an  iron  trap, 
into  which  with  thunder  and  flame  the  Spanish 
ordnance  was  pouring  death. 


VII 


'HEY  who  saw  the  full  promise 
of  the  night  in  one  instant  of 
time  dashed  from  their  lips  and 
lost  in  desert  sands  struggled 
fiercely  with  their  fate.  Bal- 
dry's  great  figure  at  their  head,  Baldry's  great 
voice  shouting  encouragement,  they  strove  to 
pass  the  trench,  to  rush  upon  and  overwhelm 
the  masked  batteries,  the  hidden  marksmen.  An 
effectual  chevaux -de- frise,  the  pointed  stakes 
withstood  them,  tore  them,  and  threw  them  back. 
Effort  upon  effort,  a  wild  crossing  over  the  inter 
laced  bodies  of  the  fallen,  a  forward  rush  upon 
the  guns,  a  loud  '"Ware  the  vines!"  from  Bal- 
dry — another  and  a  wider  ditch,  irregular  and 
shallow,  but  lined  with  thorns  like  stilettos,  and 
strung  from  side  to  side  with  lianas  strong  as 
ropes  to  entangle,  to  bring  prone  upon  the  thorns 
the  desperate  men  who  strove  in  the  snare.  A 
small  band  won  to  the  farther  side,  but  the  shot 

154 


was  as  a  blast  of  winter  among  sere  leaves,  and 
terribly  thinned  their  ranks.     All  was  vain,  all ' 
hopeless;  to  advance,   destruction,   to  tarry  in 
that  arena  amidst  the  deadly  thunder  of  the 
guns,  no  less  a  thing. 

"Back,  back!"  shouted  Baldry.  "Back 
through  the  tunal — back  to  the  Admiral  at  the 
main  battery!  Here  all's  lost!" 

Above  the  din  rose  his  voice.  Back  to  the 
one  door  of  safety  surged  the  English,  but  the 
way  was  narrow  from  that  pit  into  which  they 
had  been  betrayed.  The  guns  yet  spoke;  men 
dropped  with  an  answering  groan  or  with  a  wild 
cry  to  their  comrades  not  to  leave  them  behind 
in  that  fatal  trench,  upon  Death's  harvest-field. 
How  in  the  murk  and  rain  of  death  could  the 
whole  gather  the  maimed,  know  the  living  from 
the  dead?  Barely  might  the  uninjured  save 
themselves,  give  support  perhaps  to  some  hurt 
and  staggering  comrade.  Happy  were  the  dead, 
for  the  fallen  whose  wounds  were  not  mortal, 
perhaps  the  fate  of  the  men  of  the  Minion!  Of 
the  company  which  had  come  with  Robert  Bal 
dry  through  the  tunal  to  take  by  surprise  the 
fortress  of  Nueva  Cordoba  hardly  a  third  found 

155 


again  its  shelter,  turned  drawn  faces  to  the  sea, 
rushed  from  that  death-trap,  through  the  bitter 
and  fatal  wood,  towards  hillside  and  plain,  and 
the  Admiral's  attack  upon  that  fortification 
which  with  all  their  force  they  had  twice  en 
deavored  to  storm  and  found  impregnable. 

Baldry  himself?  Surely  he  was  among  them! 
— in  that  shadowy  pass  was  not  this  his  great 
form — or  this — or  this  ? 

"  Baldry !  Robert  Baldry !"  cried  Sedley,  and 
there  came  no  answer.  High  and  shrill  as  a 
woman's  wail  rang  again  the  young  man's  voice. 
"Captain  Robert  Baldry!" 

"  He's  not  here,  sir,"  said  a  Devon  man,  softly. 
" God  rest  his  soul!" 

Sedley  raised  his  white  face  to  the  stars,  then : 
"On  men,  on!  We've  to  help  Sir  John,  you 
know!"  Tone  of  voice,  raised  arm,  and  waving 
hand,  subtle  and  elusive  likeness  to  the  leader 
whom  he  worshipped,  upon  whom  he  had  mould 
ed  himself — for  the  moment  it  was  as  though  Sir 
Mortimer  Feme  had  cried  encouragement  to 
their  sunken  hearts,  was  beckoning  them  on  to 
ultimate  victory  plucked  from  present  defeat. 
A  cheer,  wavering,  broken,  touched  with  hys- 

156 


teria,  broke  from  throats  that  were  dry  with  the 
horror  of  past  moments.  On  with  Henry  Sedley, 
their  leader  now,  they  struggled,  making  what 
mad  haste  they  might  through  the  tunal. 

In  wrath  and  grief,  set  of  face,  hot  of  heart, 
they  burst  at  last  from  the  tunal  into  the  open 
with  sky  and  sea,  the  plain,  the  town  and  the 
river  before  them — the  river  where  the  ships  lay 
in  safety,  the  Cygnet  and  the  Phcenix  close  in 
shore,  the  Mere  Honour  and  the  Marigold  in 
midstream.  The  ships  in  safety  —  then  what 
meant  those  distant  cries,  that  thrice  repeated 
booming  of  a  signal  gun,  that  glare  upon  the 
river,  those  two  boats  filled  with  rowers  making 
mad  haste  up  the  stream,  that  volley  from  the 
Mere  Honour's  stern  guns  beneath  which  sank 
one  of  the  hurrying  craft? 

Turned  to  stone  they  upon  the  hillside  watched 
disaster  at  her  work.  The  Cygnet  was  a  noble 
ship,  co-equal  in  size  and  strength  with  the  Mere 
Honour,  well  beloved  and  well  defended.  Now 
for  one  instant  of  time  a  great  leap  of  flame  from 
her  decks  lit  all  the  scene  and  showed  her  in  her 
might;  it  was  followed  by  a  frightful  explosion, 
and  the  great  ship,  torn  from  her  anchorage, 

157 


wrecked  forever,  a  flaming  hulk,  a  torch,  a  pyre, 
a  potent  of  irremediable  ruin,  bore  down  the 
swift  current  and  struck  the  Phoenix.  .  .  .  Once 
more  the  Mere  Honour's  cannon  thundered  loud 
appeal  and  warning.  In  the  red  light  cast  by 
her  destroyer  the  galleon  began  to  sink,  and  that 
so  rapidly  that  her  seamen  threw  themselves 
overboard.  Yet  burning,  the  Cygnet  kept  on 
her  way.  Borne  by  the  tide  she  passed  from 
the  narrow  to  the  wider  waters ;  to-night  a  wan 
ing  star,  the  morn  might  find  her  a  blackened 
derelict,  if  indeed  there  was  sign  of  her  at  all 
upon  the  surface  of  the  sea. 

Around  the  base  of  the  hill  swept  the  Admiral 
and  his  force.  Vain  had  been  the  attack  upon 
the  fortress,  heavy  the  loss  of  the  English,  but 
it  was  not  the  Spanish  guns  which  had  caused 
that  retreat.  Where  were  Robert  Baldry  and 
his  men?  What  strange  failure,  unlooked-for 
disaster,  portended  that  heavy  firing  at  the  rear 
of  the  fortress?  .  .  .  The  signal  gun!  The  ships! 

John  Nevil  and  his  company  left  attacking 
forever  the  fortress  of  Nueva  Cordoba,  and 
rushed  down  the  hillside  towards  plain  and  river. 
Forth  from  the  town  burst  Ambrose  Wynch  with 

158 


the  guard  which  had  been  left  in  the  square — 
but  where  were  Robert  Baldry  and  his  men? 
Were  these  they — this  dwindled  band  staggering, 
leaping  down  from  the  heights,  led  by  Henry 
Sedley,  gray,  exhausted,  speaking  in  whispers 
or  in  strained,  high  voices?  No  time  was  there 
for  explanation,  bewildered  conjecture,  tragic 
apprehension.  Scarcely  had  the  three  parties 
joined,  when  hard  upon  their  heels  came  De 
Guardiola  and  all  his  men-at-arms.  Nevil  wheel 
ed,  fought  them  back,  set  face  again  to  the 
river,  but  his  adversaries  chose  not  to  have  it  so. 
They  achieved  their  purpose,  for  he  gave  them 
battle  on  the  plain,  at  his  back  the  red  light  from 
the  river,  before  him  that  bitter,  triumphant 
fortress.  Hard  and  long  did  they  fight  in  a 
death  struggle,  fierce  and  implacable,  where  quar 
ter  was  neither  asked  nor  given.  Nevil  himself 
bore  a  charmed  life,  but  many  a  gentleman  ad 
venturer,  many  a  simple  soldier  or  mariner 
gasped  his  last  upon  Spanish  pike  or  sword. 
Not  fifty  paces  from  the  river  bank  Henry  Sed 
ley  received  his  quietus.  He  had  fought  as  one 
inspired,  all  his  being  tempered  to  a  fine  agong 
of  endeavor  too  high  for  suffering  or  for  thought. 

159 


So  now  when  Arden  caught  him,  falling,  it  was 
with  an  unruffled  brow  and  a  smile  remote  and 
sweet  that  he  looked  up  at  the  other's  haggard, 
twisted  features. 

"  My  knighthood's  yet  to  seek,"  he  said.  "  It 
matters  not.  Tell  my  Captain  that  as  I  fought 
for  him  here,  so  I  wait  for  him  in  Christ  His 
court.  Tell  my  sister  Damans — "  He  was 
gone,  and  Arden,  rising,  slew  the  swordsman  to 
whom  his  death  was  due. 

Still  fighting,  the  English  reached  the  brim  of 
the  river  and  the  boats  that  were  hidden  there. 
The  Mere  Honour  and  the  Marigold  were  now 
their  cities  of  refuge.  Lost  was  the  town,  lost 
any  hope  of  the  fortress  and  what  it  contained, 
lost  the  Cygnet  and  the  Phcenix,  lost  Henry  Sed- 
ley  and  Robert  Baldry  and  many  a  gallant  man 
besides,  lost  Sir  Mortimer  Feme.  Gall  and  vine 
gar  and  Dead  Sea  fruit  and  frustrated  promise 
this  night  held  for  them  who  had  been  conquer 
ors  and  confident. 

They  saw  the  Cygnet,  yet  burning,  upon  her 
way  to  the  open  sea;  from  the  galleon  San  Jos6 
it  was  gone  to  join  the  caravels.  Wreckage 
strewed  the  river's  bosom,  and  for  those  who  had 

160 


manned  the  two  ships,  destroyer  and  destroyed, 
where  were  they?  Down  with  the  allegartos  and 
the  river  slime — yet  voyaging  with  the  Cygnet— 
rushing,  a  pale  accusing  troop  towards  God's 
justice  bar?  .  .  .  The  night  was  waxing  old,  the 
dawn  was  coming.  Upon  the  Mere  Honour  Bap 
tist  Man  wood,  a  brave  and  honest  soul  who  did 
his  duty,  steered  his  ship,  encouraged  his  men, 
fought  the  Spaniard  and  made  no  more  ado, 
trained  his  guns  upon  the  landing,  and  with  their 
menace  kept  back  the  enemy  while,  boatload 
after  boatload,  the  English  left  the  bank  and 
reached  in  safety  the  two  ships  that  were  left 
them. 

The  day  was  breaking  in  red  intolerable  splen 
dor,  a  terrible  glory  illuminating  the  Mere  Hon 
our  and  the  Marigold,  the  river  and  the  sandy 
shore  where  gathered  the  flamingoes  and  the 
herons  and  the  egrets,  as  the  Admiral,  standing 
on  the  poop  of  the  Mere  Honour,  pressed  the 
hands  of  those  his  officers  that  were  spared  to 
him,  and  spoke  simply  and  manfully,  as  had 
spoken  Francis  Drake,  to  the  gentlemen  advent 
urers  who  had  risked  life  and  goods  in  this  en 
terprise,  and  to  the  soldiers  and  mariners  gath- 

161 


ered  in  the  waist;  then  listened  in  silence  to  the 
story  of  disaster.  Nor  Robert  Baldry  nor  Henry 
Sedley  was  there  to  make  report,  but  a  grizzled 
man-at-arms  told  of  the  trap  beyond  the  tunal 
into  which  Baldry  had  been  betrayed.  "How 
did  the  Dons  come  to  know,  Sir  John?  We'll 
take  our  oath  that  the  trench  was  newly  dug,  and 
sure  no  such  devil's  battery  as  opened  on  us  was 
planted  there  before  this  night!  'Twas  a  traitor 
or  a  spy  that  wrought  us  deadly  harm!"  He 
ended  with  a  fearful  imprecation,  and  an  echo 
of  his  oath  came  from  his  fellows  in  defeat. 

Michael  Thynne,  Master  of  the  Cygnet,  a  dazed 
and  bleeding  figure,  snatched  from  the  water  by 
one  of  the  Marigold's  boats,  spoke  for  his  ship. 
"  Came  to  us  that  were  nearest  the  shore  a  boat 
out  of  the  shadow — and  we  saw  but  four  or  may 
be  five  rowers.  '  Who  goes  there?'  calls  I,  stand 
ing  by  the  big  culverin.  ' The  word  or  we  fire!' 
One  in  the  boat  stands  up.  '  Dione'  says  he, 
and  on  comes  the  boat  under  our  stern."  He 
put  up  an  uncertain  hand  to  a  ghastly  wound  in 
his  forehead.  .  .  .  "Well,  your  Honor,  as  I  was 
saying,  they  were  Spaniards,  after  all,  and  a  many 
of  them,  for  they  were  hidden  in  the  bottom  of 

162 


&tr   JHnritmer 

the  boat.  '  Dione,'  says  they,  and  I  lean  over 
the  rail  to  see  if  'twere  black  Humphrey  clamber 
ing  up  and  to  know  what  was  wanted.  .  .  .  After 
that  I  don't  remember — but  one  had  a  pistolet, 
I  think.  .  .  .  There  was  another  boat  that  came 
after  them — and  we  were  but  twenty  men  in  all. 
They  swarmed  over  the  side  and  they  cut  us 
down.  They  must  ha'  found  the  magazine,  for 
they  fired  the  ship — they  fired  the  Cygnet,  Sir 
John,  and  it  bore  down  with  the  tide  and  struck 
the  Phcenix"  His  voice  falling,  one  caught  and 
drew  him  aside  to  the  chirurgeon's  care. 

The  Admiral  turned  to  Ambrose  Wynch,  who 
burst  forth  with :  "  Sir  John  Nevil,  as  I  have  hope 
of  heaven,  I  swear  I  did  guard  that  man  as  you 
bade  me  do!  The  room  was  safe,  the  window 
high  and  barred,  the  door  locked— 

"  I  doubt  not  that  you  did  your  duty,  Ambrose 
Wynch,"  spoke  the  Admiral.  "  But  the  man 
escaped — " 

"At  the  nooning  he  was  safe  enough,"  pursued 
the  other,  with  agitation.  "I,  going  the  rounds, 
looked  in  and  saw  him  sitting  on  his  bed,  smil 
ing  at  me  like  a  woman — Satan  take  his  soul! 
I  left  Ralph  Walter  in  the  hall  without,  and 

163 


you  know  him  for  a  stanch  man.  .  .  .  When  we 
heard  the  Mere  Honour's  guns,  and  the  town 
rose  against  us  who  were  left  within  it,  and  I 
and  my  handful  were  cutting  our  way  out  to 
join  you,  Walter  got  to  my  side  for  a  moment. 
'  He's  gone !'  says  he.  '  When  I  heard  the  alarum 
I  went  to  fetch  him  forth  to  the  square  with 
me — and  he  was  not  there !  When  he  went  and 
how,  except  the  devil  aided  him,  I  know  no 
more  than  you!"1 

"Where  is  Ralph  Walter?"  said  the  Admiral. 

" Dead  on  the  plain  yonder!"  groaned  his  lieu 
tenant,  and  sitting  down,  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands. 

From  the  main-deck  arose  a  long,  shrill  cry. 
Arden  drew  a  shuddering  breath. 

"It's  that  boy  Robin!  Had  they  not  bound 
him  he  would  have  thrown  himself  overboard. 
I  doubt  you'll  have  to  flog  his  senses  back  to 
him." 

Robin-a-dale's  voice  again,  this  time  from  the 
break  of  the  poop; — Robin-a-dale  himself  upon 
them,  his  bonds  broken,  his  eyeballs  starting,  a 
wild  blue-jerkined  Ariel  filled  with  tidings.  In 
this  moment  a  scant  respecter  of  persons,  he 


threw  himself  upon  Nevil,  pointing  and  stam 
mering,  inarticulate  with  the  wealth  of  his  dis 
covery.  The  eyes  of  the  two  men  followed  his 
lean,  brown  finger.  .  .  .  Above  the  quay  where 
boats  made  landing  a  sand-spit  ran  out  from  the 
tamarind-shadowed  bank,  and  now  in  the  red 
dawning  the  mist  that  clung  to  it  lifted.  A 
man  who  for  an  hour  had  lain  heavily  in  the 
heavy  shadow  where  he  had  been  left  by  De 
Guardiola's  picked  men  had  arisen,  and  with 
feeble  and  uncertain  steps  was  treading  the  sand- 
spit  in  the  direction  of  the  ships.  Even  as  Nevil 
and  Arden  looked  where  Robin's  shaking  fore 
finger  bade  them  look,  he  raised  and  waved  his 
hand.  It  was  the  shadow  of  an  old  familiar 
gesture. 

Before  the  cockboat  reached  the  point  he  had 
fallen,  first  to  his  knee,  then  prone  upon  the 
sand.  It  was  in  that  deep  swoon  that  he  was 
brought  aboard  the  Mere  Honour  and  laid  in  the 
Admiral's  cabin,  whence  Arden,  leaving  the 
chirurgeon  and  Robin-a-dale  with  the  yet  un 
conscious  man,  presently  came  forth  to  the  Ad 
miral  and  to  Ambrose  Wynch  and  asked  for 
aqua  vitae,  then  drew  his  hand  across  his  brow 

165 


and  wiped  away  the  cold  sweat;  finally  found 
voice  with  which  to  load  with  curses  Luiz  de 
Guardiola  and  his  ministers.  The  Admiral  lis 
tening,  kept  his  still  look  upon  the  fortress. 
When  Arden  had  ended  his  imprecations  he 
spoke  with  a  quiet  voice : 

"I  love  a  knightly  foe,"  he  said.  "For  that 
churl  and  satyr  yonder,  may  God  keep  him  in 
safety  until  we  come  again!" 

"Till  we  come  again!"  Arden  cried,  in  the 
fierceness  of  his  unwonted  passion.  "Are  we 
not  here?  Why  is  the  boatswain  calling?  Why 
do  we  make  sail,  and  that  so  hastily?" 

"Look!"  said  Ambrose  Wynch,  gruffly,  and 
pointed  to  the  west.  "The  plate-fleet!" 

Those  many  white  flecks  upon  the  horizon 
grew  larger,  came  swiftly  on.  Forth  from  the 
river's  mouth,  out  to  sea,  put  the  Mere  Hon 
our  and  the  Marigold,  for  they  might  not  tarry 
to  meet  that  squadron.  None  that  looked  upon 
Nevil's  face  doubted  that  though  now  he  went, 
he  would  come  again.  But  he  must  gather  other 
ships,  replace  his  dead,  renew  his  strength  by 
the  touch  of  his  mother  earth.  Home  therefore 
to  England,  to  the  friends  and  foes  of  a  man's 

166 


own  house!  To  the  eastward  turned  the  prows 
of  the  English  ships;  the  sails  filled,  the  shores 
slipped  past.  In  the  town  the  bells  were  ring 
ing,  on  the  plain  were  figures  moving;  from  the 
fortress  boomed  a  gun,  and  the  sound  was  like  a 
taunt,  was  like  a  blow  upon  the  cheek.  Swift 
answer  made  the  cannon  of  both  ships,  and  the 
sullen,  defiant  roar  awoke  the  echoes.  Taunt 
might  they  give  for  taunt.  Three  ships  had  the 
English  taken,  three  towns  had  they  sacked;  in 
sea-fights  and  in  land-fights  they  had  been  vic 
tors  !  Where  were  the  caravels,  where  the  ruined 
battery  at  the  river's  mouth,  where  the  great 
magazine  of  Nueva  Cordoba?  Where  was  An 
tonio  de  Castro? — and  the  galleon  San  Jost  was 
lost  to  friend  as  well  as  foe — and  Spaniard  no 
more  than  Englishman  might  gather  again  the 
sunken  treasure.  Thus  spake  the  guns,  but  the 
hearts  of  the  men  behind  were  wrung  for  the 
living  and  the  dead.  The  shores  slipped  by,  the 
fortress  hill  of  Nueva  Cordoba  lessened  to  a  sil 
ver  speck  against  the  mountains;  swift-sailing 
ships  they  feared  no  chase  by  those  galleons  of 
Spain.  Islands  were  passed,  behind  them  fell 
bold  coasts,  before  them  spread  the  waste  of 

167 


waters.  Beyond  the  waste  there  was  home, 
where  friend  and  foe  awaited  tidings  of  the  ex 
pedition  which  had  gone  forth  big  with  promise. 
In  the  Mere  Honour's  state-cabin  upon  the 
evening  of  that  decisive  day  were  gathered  a 
number  of  the  adventurers  who  had  staked  life 
and  goods  in  this  enterprise.  Not  all  were  there 
who  had  sailed  from  England  to  the  Spanish 
seas.  Then  as  now  England  paid  tithes  of  her 
younger  sons  to  violent  death.  Many  men  were 
missing  whose  voices  the  air  seemed  yet  to  hold. 
They  had  outstripped  their  comrades,  they  had 
gone  before:  what  bustling  highways  or  what 
lonely  paths  they  were  treading,  what  fare  they 
were  tasting,  for  what  mark  they  were  making, 
and  upon  what  long,  long  adventure  bound — 
these  were  hidden  things  to  the  travellers  left 
behind  in  this  murky  segment  of  life.  But  to 
the  strained  senses  of  the  men  upon  whom,  as 
yet,  had  hardly  fallen  the  upas  languor  of  ac 
cepted  defeat,  before  whose  eyes,  whether  shut 
or  open,  yet  passed  insistent  visions  of  last  night's 
events,  like  an  echo,  like  a  shade,  old  presences 
made  themselves  felt.  Swinging  lanterns  dimly 
lit  the  cabin  of  the  Mere  Honour,  and  in  ranks 

168 


9tr    IHnrttmtr 

the  shadows  rose  and  fell  along  its  swaying  walls. 
From  without,  the  sound  of  the  sea  came  like  an 
inarticulate  murmur  of  far-away  voices.  There 
were  vacant  places  at  the  table,  and  upon  the 
long  benches  that  ran  beneath  the  windows ;  yet, 
indefinably,  there  seemed  no  less  a  company 
than  in  the  days  before  the  taking  of  the  galleon 
San  Jose  and  the  town  of  Nueva  Cordoba.  One 
arose  restlessly  and  looked  out  upon  the  star- 
rimmed  sea,  then  in  haste  turned  back  to  the  lit 
cabin  and  passed  his  hand  before  his  eyes.  "  I 
thought  I  saw  the  Phcenix,"  he  said,  "huge  and 
tall,  with  Robert  Baldry  leaning  over  the  side." 
Another  groaned,  "  I  had  rather  see  the  Cygnet 
that  was  the  best-loved  ship!"  At  the  mention 
of  the  Cygnet  they  looked  towards  a  door.  "  How 
long  his  stupor  holds!"  quoth  Ambrose  Wynch. 
"Well,  God  knows  'tis  better  dreaming  than 
awaking!"  The  door  opened  and  Sir  Mortimer 
Feme  stood  before  them. 

From  the  Admiral  to  the  last  ne'er-do-weel 
of  a  noble  house  all  sprang  to  their  feet.  "  God !" 
said  one,  under  his  breath,  and  another's  tank 
ard  fell  clattering  from  his  shaking  hand.  Nevil, 
the  calm  accustomed  state,  the  iron  quiet  of  his 

169 


IHr 

nature  quite  broken,  advanced  with  agitation. 
"  Mortimer,  Mortimer!"  he  cried,  and  would  have 
put  his  arms  about  his  friend,  but  Feme  stayed 
him  with  a  gesture  and  a  look  that  none  might 
understand.  Behind  him  came  Robin-a-dale, 
slipped  beneath  his  outstretched  arm,  then  with 
head  thrown  back  and  wild  defiant  eyes  faced 
the  little  throng  of  adventurers.  "He's  mad!" 
he  shrilled.  "My  master's  mad!  He  says 
strange  things — but  don't  you  mind  them,  gen 
tles.  ...  Oh!  Sir  John  Nevil,  don't  you  mind 
them—" 

"Robin!"  said  Feme,  and  the  boy  was  silent. 

Arden  pushed  forward  the  huge  and  heavy 
chair  from  the  head  of  the  board.  "  Stand  not 
there  before  us  like  the  shade  of  him  who  was 
Mortimer  Feme,"  he  cried,  his  dark  face  work 
ing.  "Sit  here  among  us  who  dearly  love  you, 
truest  friend  and  noblest  gentleman ! — Pour  wine 
for  him,  one  of  you!" 

Feme  made  no  motion  of  acquiescence.  He 
stood  against  the  door  which  had  shut  behind 
him  and  looked  from  man  to  man.  "  Humphrey 
Carewe — and  you,  Gilbert — and  you,  Giles  Ar 
den — why  are  you  here  upon  the  Mere  Honour? 

170 


&ir   finrtimrr 

The  Cygnet  is  your  ship."  None  answering  him, 
his  eyes  travelled  to  others  of  the  company. 
"You,  Darrell,  and  you,  Black  Will  Cotesworth, 
were  of  the  Phoenix.  What  do  you  here?  . 
The  water  rushes  by  and  the  timbers  creak  and 
strain.  Whither  do  we  go  under  press  of  sail?" 

Before  the  intensity  of  his  regard  the  men 
shrank  back  appalled.  A  moment  passed  then. 
"My  friend,  my  friend!"  cried  Nevil,  hoarsely, 
"you  have  suffered.  .  .  .  Rest  until  to-morrow." 

The  other  looked  steadfastly  upon  him.  "  Why, 
'tis  so  that  I  have  been  through  the  fires  of  hell. 
Certain  things  were  told  me  there — but  I  have 
thought  that  perhaps  they  were  not  true.  Tell 
me  the  truth." 

The  silence  seemed  long  before  with  recovered 
calmness  the  Admiral  spoke.  "Take  the  truth, 
then,  from  my  lips,  and  bear  it  highly.  As  we 
had  plotted  so  we  did,  but  that  vile  toad,  that 
engrained  traitor,  learning,  we  know  not  how, 
each  jot  and  tittle  of  our  plan  and  escaping  by 
some  secret  way,  sold  us  to  disaster  such  as  has 
not  been  since  Fayal  in  the  Azores !  For  on  land 
we  fought  to  no  avail,  and  by  treachery  the 
Spaniards  seized  the  Cygnet,  slew  the  men  upon 

171 


IHr    iW 

her,  and  fired  her  powder-room.  Dressed  in 
flame  she  bore  down  upon,  struck,  and  sunk  the 
Phoenix.  .  .  .  Now  we  are  the  Mere  Honour  and 
the  Marigold,  and  we  go  under  press  of  sail  be 
cause  behind  us,  whitening  the  waters  that  we 
have  left,  is  the  plate-fleet  from  Cartagena." 

''Where  is  Robert  Baldry?"  asked  Feme. 

"In  the  hands  of  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola — 
dead  or  living  we  know  not.  He  and  a  hundred 
men  came  not  forth  from  the  tunal — stayed  be 
hind  in  the  snare  the  Spaniard  had  set  for  them." 

"Where  is  Henry  Sedley?" 

"He  died  in  my  arms,  Mortimer,  thrust 
through  by  a  pike  in  that  bitter  fight  upon  the 
plain!"  Arden  made  reply.  "I  was  to  tell  you 
that  he  waited  for  you  in  Christ  His  court." 

"Then  will  he  wait  for  aye,"  said  the  man 
who  leaned  so  heavily  against  the  door.  "Or 
till  Christ  beckons  in  Iscariot." 

They  looked  at  him,  thinking  his  mind  dis 
traught,  not  wondering  that  it  should  be  so. 
He  read  their  thought  and  smiled,  but  his  eyes 
that  smiled  not  met  Arden's.  "Great  God!" 
cried  the  latter,  shrank  back  against  the  table 
and  put  out  a  shaking  hand. 

172 


Slowly  Feme  left  the  support  of  the  wood  and 
straightened  his  racked  frame  until  he  stood 
erect,  a  figure  yet  graceful,  yet  stately,  but  pa 
thetic  and  terrible,  bearing  as  it  did  deep  marks 
of  Spanish  hatred.  The  face  was  ghastly  in  its 
gleaming  pallor,  in  its  effect  of  a  beautiful  mask 
fitted  to  tragedy  too  utter  for  aught  but  stillness. 
He  wore  no  doublet,  and  his  shirt  was  torn  and 
stained  with  blood,  but  in  last  and  subtlest 
mockery  De  Guardiola  had  restored  to  him  his 
sword.  He  drew  it  now,  held  the  blade  across 
his  knee,  and  with  one  effort  of  all  his  strength 
broke  the  steel  in  twain,  then  threw  the  pieces 
from  him,  and  turned  his  sunken  eyes  upon  the 
Admiral.  "I  beg  the  shortest  shrift  that  you 
may  give,"  he  said.  "  It  was  I  who,  when  they 
tormented  me,  told  them  all.  Hang  me  now, 
John  Nevil,  in  the  starlight." 

The  Admiral's  lips  moved,  but  there  came 
from  them  no  sound,  nor  was  there  sound  in  the 
cabin  of  the  Mere  Honour.  Not  the  Cygnet  or 
the  Phoenix  were  more  quiet  far  away,  far  below, 
on  the  gray  levels  of  the  sea.  At  last  a  voice — 
Ambrose  Wynch's — broke  the  silence  that  had 
grown  too  great  to  bear.  "It  was  Francis 
173 


Sark,"  he  said,  and  again  monotonously,  "  It 
was  Francis  Sark — it  was  Francis  Sark."  An 
other  swore  with  a  great  oath,  "  Tis  as  the  boy 
says — they've  crazed  him  with  their  torments!" 
Humphrey  Carewe,  a  silent  and  a  dogged  man, 
who  wore  not  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve,  broke 
into  a  passionate  cry:  "Sir  Mortimer  Feme! 
Sir  Mortimer  Feme!" 

To  them  all  it  seemed  that  the  name  broke  the 
spell  that  was  upon  them.  The  name  stood  for 
very  much.  Carewe' s  outcry  called  up  a  cloud 
of  witnesses — the  deeds  of  a  man's  lifetime — 
and  marshalled  them  against  this  monstrous  ac 
cusation  of  a  sick  and  whirling  hour.  "You 
know  not  what  you  say!"  spoke  Nevil,  harshly. 
"Good  and  evil  are  blent  in  you  as  in  all  men, 
but  God  used  no  traitorous  or  craven  stuff  in 
your  making!  Rest  now, — speak  to  us  to-mor 
row!" 

Again  he  would  have  advanced,  but  the  man 
at  the  door  waved  him  back,  smiled  once  more 
with  his  lips  alone.  "Ah,  you  all  are  dear  to 
me!  But  do  you  know  I  prefer  your  hatred  to 
your  love !  Give  me  your  hatred  and  let  me  go. 
I  am  not  mad  nor  do  I  lie  to  you.  .  .  .  Before  the 
i74 


'l  BEG  THE  SHORTEST  SHRIFT  THAT  YOU  MAY  GIVE 


Horttmer 

sunset,  when  I  had  borne  torment  through  the 
day,  I  bore  it  no  longer.  They  loosed  me  and 
dashed  water  in  my  face,  and  Luiz  de  Guardiola 
said  over  to  me  the  words  that  I  had  spoken. 
Then  he  went  forth  and  laid  his  snares.  .  .  .  And 
so  Robert  Baldry  is  lost,  he  and  a  hundred  men 
besides?  And  Spaniards  coming  down  the  river 
took  the  Cygnet  because  they  knew  the  word  of 
the  night?"  A  spasm  distorted  the  masklike 
features,  but  in  a  moment  it  was  gone.  "  I 
should  be  a  madman,"  he  said,  "  for  once  I  walk 
ed  before  you  with  a  high  head  and  a  proud 
heart.  It  seems  that  I  knew  not  myself.  .  ,N. 
Now,  John  Nevil,  enact  Drake  and  send  me  to 
join  Thomas  Doughty!" 

The  Admiral  answered  not  where  he  stood, 
covering  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  "  But  Francis 
Sark — "  began  Wynch,  in  a  shaking  voice. 

''I  know  naught  of  Francis  Sark,"  Feme  re 
plied.  "  As  I  have  said  so  I  did.  I  ask  no  other 
court  than  this,  no  further  mercy  than  my  pres 
ent  death.  .  .  .  John  Nevil,  for  the  sake  of  all 
that's  dead  and  gone  forever,  I  pray  you  to  keep 
me  here  no  longer!" 

He  staggered  as  he  spoke  and  put  his  hand  to 
175 


his  head.  "  Mortimer,  Mortimer.  Mortimer!" 
cried  the  Admiral.  "  Oh,  my  God,  let  this  dream 
pass!" 

"  Why,  the  matter  needs  not  God,"  said  Feme, 
and  laughed.  "  I  am  a  traitor,  am  I  not?  Then 
do  to  me  what  was  done  to  Thomas  Doughty. 
Only  hasten,  for  dead  men  wait  to  clutch  me, 
and  your  looks  do  sear  my  very  brain." 

Again  he  reeled.  With  a  cry  Robin-a-dale 
sprang  towards  him.  Arden,  too,  was  there  in 
time  to  support  the  sinking  figure  and  guide  it  to 
the  seat  he  had  pushed  forward.  Some  one  held 
wine  to  the  lips.  .  .  .  Slow  moments  passed,  then 
Sir  Mortimer's  eyes  unclosed.  The  boy  hung 
over  him,  and  he  smiled  upon  him,  smiled  with 
eye  and  lip.  "Ay,  ay,  ay,  Robin,"  he  said, 
"we'll  to  the  court!  And  sweep  away  these 
rhymes,  for  the  queen  of  all  my  songs  dwells 
there,  and  I  shall  look  into  her  eyes — and  that's 
better  than  singing,  lad!  Ay,  I'll  wear  the  vio 
let,  and  we'll  ride  beneath  the  blossoms  of  the 
spring.  .  .  .  But  there's  a  will-o'-the-wisp  on  the 
marsh  out  yonder,  and  here  they  call  it  a  lost 
soul — the  soul  of  the  traitor  Aguirre!" 

"Master,  master!"  cried  the  boy. 
176 


Feme  laughed,  touching  the  young  cheek  with 
long,  supple  fingers.  "  Fame  is  a  bubble,  lad — 
let  me  tell  thee  that!  But  then  it  is  rainbow- 
hued  and  mirrors  the  sky, — so  we'll  ride  for  the 
bubble,  lad!  and  we'll  stoop  from  the  saddle  and 
gather  up  Love !  And  when  the  bubble  has  van 
ished  and  Love  is  dead  there's  Honor  left!"  He 
leaned  forward,  seeing  and  hearing  where  was 
neither  sound  nor  sight.  There  was  gayety  in 
his  face.  To  the  men  who  stared  upon  him  it 
was  a  fearful  thing  that  he  who  had  lost  his  bat 
tle  should  wear  once  more  the  look  which  they 
had  seen  a  thousand  times.  He  raised  his  hand. 

"Do  you  not  hear  the  drums  beat  and  the 
trumpets  blow — far  away,  far  away?  Let  me 
whisper — there's  one  that  comes  home  in  tri 
umph.  .  .  .  Ay,  your  Grace,  'twas  I  that  took 
Santo  Domingo  in  Hispaniola,  and  on  the  main 
land  the  very  rich  cities  of  Puerto  Cabello,  Santa 
Marta,  La  Guayra,  Cartagena,  Nombre  de  Dios 
and  San  Juan  de  Ulloa.  Manoa  I  reserve, — 'tis 
a  secret  city,  and  all  who  know  a  secret  must  keep 
it,  else.  .  .  .  Robin !  Robin,  rid  me  of  these  bab 
blers.  She's  coming! — all  in  white — like  blown 
spray — but  she  bears  no  roses.  Lilies,  lilies! — 
177 


white  samite  like  her  robe — but  her  eyes  are 
turned  away.  Let  her  pass,  ye  fools!  She's  the 
word  of  the  night!"  He  staggered  to  his  feet, 
swaying  forward,  clutching  at  the  empty  air  as 
at  a  man's  throat,  and  again  his  laugh  rang 
through  the  cabin.  "So  you  twisted  it  from 
me,  Spanish  dog! — so  I  raved  out  my  heart  as 
to  a  woman?  Then,  Don  Sathanas,  we'll  go 
home  together  and  all  the  soldiery  of  hell  shall 
not  unlock  our  embrace!"  He  grappled  with 
an  invisible  foe — bent  him  backward  farther  and 
farther  over  the  brink  of  the  world — went  down 
with  him  into  unplumbed  darkness.  .  .  . 

They  judged  not  the  Captain  of  the  Cygnet  for 
a  craven  and  a  traitor,  for,  day  after  day  and 
day  after  day,  he  lay  in  the  Admiral's  cabin,  so 
ill  a  man  that  the  coasts  of  Death  seemed  nearer 
than  those  of  England,  and  man's  condemnation 
an  idle  thing,  seeing  that  so  soon  he  must  face 
another  Justiciar.  So  near  at  times  to  that  ulti 
mate  shore  did  he  drift  that  those  who  watched 
him  saw  the  shadow  on  his  face.  When  the 
shadow  was  deep  they  waited  with  held  breath ; 
when  it  somewhat  lifted  they  sorrowed  that  the 
tide  had  brought  him  back.  He  was  of  those 


JHr    iflnrtitnrr 

changelings  from  a  fortunate  land  to  whom  Love 
clings  when  Faith  has  covered  her  head  and 
turned  away.  They  that  in  heaviness  of  heart 
loved  him  still  grieved  that  he  might  not  touch 
the  dark  shore.  Better,  far  better,  to  lay  hold 
of  it  so,  to  go  quietly  in  the  not  unhappy  fever- 
dream,  wandering  of  old  days,  recking  naught 
of  the  new.  So  the  matter  might  be  adjudged 
elsewhere,  but  in  this  world  glozed  and  softened. 
The  days  went  on  and  still  Fate  played  with 
him,  drew  him  forward,  plucked  him  back. 
What  fancies  he  had;  what  wild  excursions  he 
made  into  dizzy,  black,  and  horror-haunted  re 
gions  ;  what  aeons  he  lived  beneath  the  seas  that 
stifled;  by  what  winds  he  was  whirled,  through 
space,  past  burning  orbs  that  neither  warmed 
nor  lighted  the  all-surrounding  night;  in  what 
Titanic  maze  he  was  lost,  lost  forever,  he  and 
Pain  that  was  his  brother  from  whom  he  might 
not  part; — the  sick  brain  made  a  hell  and  lan 
guished  in  the  world  it  had  created!  At  other 
times,  when  the  dark  coasts  were  near  and  the 
current  very  swift,  pale  paradises  opened  to  him 
where  he  lay  for  centuries,  nor  hot  nor  cold, 
neither  waking  nor  sleeping,  not  in  joy  and  not 

179 


m  sorrow.  Then  the  stopped  pendulum  swung 
again,  and  the  dreams  came  fast  and  faster.  At 
times  his  brain  turned  from  its  mad  clash  with 
gigantic,  formless,  elemental  things  to  rest  in 
the  beaten  ways.  They  that  listened  heard  the 
adventurer  speak,  heard  the  courtier  and  the 
poet  and  the  lover,  but  never  once  the  traitor. 
Of  the  fortress  of  Nueva  Cordoba  and  of  what 
had  happened  therein,  of  a  Spaniard,  noble  but 
in  name,  of  an  English  knight  and  leader  who 
had  not  endured,  who,  where  many  a  simple  soul 
had  stood  fast  to  the  end,  had  redeemed  his  body 
with  his  honor,  the  man  who  raved  of  all  things 
else  made  no  mention.  Now  with  the  sugared 
and  fantastic  protestation  demanded  by  court 
fashion  and  the  deep,  chivalric  loyalty  of  his 
type  he  spoke  to  the  Queen  of  England,  and  now 
he  was  with  Sidney  at  Penshurst,  Platonist,  poet, 
Arcadian.  Now  he  lived  over  old  adventures, 
old  voyages,  past  battles,  wrongs  done  and 
wrongs  received,  unremembered  loves  and  ha 
treds,  and  now  he  walked  with  Damaris  Sedley 
in  the  garden  of  his  ancient  house  of  Feme. 

Then  at  last  he  came  to  a  land  where  he  lay 
and  watched  always  a  small  round  of  azure  wave 

180 


and  sky,  lay  idly  with  no  need  of  thought  or 
memory,  until  after  a  lifetime  of  the  sapphire 
round  it  occurred  to  him  to  put  forth  a  wasted 
hand,  touch  a  sun-embrowned  one,  and  whisper, 
" Robin!"  It  was  a  day  later,  the  ships  nearing 
the  Grand  Canary,  and  land  birds  flying  past 
his  circlet  of  sky  and  ocean,  when,  after  lying  in 
silence  for  an  hour  with  a  faint  frown  upon  his 
brow,  he  at  last  remembered,  and  turned  his  face 
to  the  wall. 


VIII 


N  a  small  withdrawing-room  at 
Whitehall  an  agreeable  young 
gentleman  pensioner,  in  love 
with  his  own  voice,  which  was 
in  truth  mellifluous,  read  aloud 
to  a  knot  of  the  Queen's  ladies.  The  room  look 
ed  upon  the  park,  and  the  pale  autumn  sunshine 
flooding  it  made  the  most  of  rich  court  raiment, 
purple  hangings,  green  rushes  on  the  floor, 
lengths  of  crimson  velvet  designed  for  a  notable 
piece  of  arras,  and  kindled  into  flame  the  jewels 
upon  white  and  flying  fingers  embroidering  upon 
the  velvet  the  history  of  King  David  and  the 
wife  of  Uriah. 

" '  It  is  not  the  color  that  commendeth  a  good 
painter,'"  read  the  gentleman  pensioner,  "'but 
the  good  countenance ;  nor  the  cutting  that  val- 
ueth  the  diamond,  but  the  virtue ;  nor  the  gloze 
of  the  tongue  that  tryeth  a  friend,  but  the 
faith/" 

182 


Mistress  Damans  Sedley  put  the  needle  some 
what  slowly  through  the  velvet,  her  fancy  busy 
with  other  embroidery,  not  so  much  listening  to 
the  spoken  words  as  pursuing  in  her  mind  a  sweet 
and  passionate  rhetoric  of  her  own. 

"'Of  a  stranger  I  can  bear  much,'"  went  on 
the  Lydian  tones,  " '  for  I  know  not  his  manners ; 
of  an  enemy  more,  for  that  all  proceedeth  of 
malice ;  all  things  of  a  friend  if  it  be  but  to  try 
me,  nothing  if  it  be  to  betray  me.  I  am  of 
Scipio's  mind,  who  had  rather  that  Hannibal 
should  eat  his  heart  with  salt  than  that  Laelius 
should  grieve  it  with  unkindness ;  and  of  the  like 
with  Laelius,  who  chose  rather  to  be  slain  with 
the  Spaniards  than  suspected  of  Scipio.'" 

Damaris  quite  left  her  work  upon  Bathsheba's 
long  gold  tresses  and  sat  with  idle  hands,  her  level 
gaze  upon  nothing  short  of  the  great  highway 
of  the  sea  and  certain  ships  thereon.  Where 
now  was  the  ship? — off  what  green  island,  what 
strange,  rich  shore? 

On  went  the  gentleman  pensioner.  "'I  can 
better  take  a  blister  of  a  nettle  than  a  prick  of  a 
rose;  more  willing  that  a  raven  should  peck  out 
my  eyes  than  a  dove.  To  die  of  the  meat  one 

183 


liketh  not  is  better  than  to  surfeit  of  that  he 
loveth;  and  I  had  rather  an  enemy  should  bury 
me  quick  than  a  friend  belie  me  when  I  am 
dead.' " 

The  reader  made  pause  and  received  his  due 
of  soft  plaudits.  But  Damaris  dreamed  on,  the 
gold  thread  loose  between  her  fingers.  She  was 
the  fairest  there,  and  the  gentleman  was  piqued 
because  she  looked  not  at  him,  but  at  some  fine 
Arachne  web  of  her  own  weaving. 

"Sweet  Mistress  Damaris—  '  he  began;  and 
again,  "Fair  Mistress  Damaris — ";  but  Damaris 
was  counting  days  and  heard  him  not.  A  lesser 
beauty  left  her  work  upon  King  David's  crown 
to  laugh  aloud,  with  some  malice  and  some  envy 
in  her  mirth.  "  Prithee,  let  her  alone!  She  will 
dream  thus  even  in  the  presence.  But  I  have  a 
spell  will  make  her  awaken."  She  leaned  for 
ward  and  called  "  Dione!"  then  with  renewed 
laughter  sank  back  into  her  seat.  "Lo!  you 
now — " 

The  maid  of  honor,  who  at  her  own  name 
stirred  not,  at  the  name  of  a  poet's  giving  had 
started  from  her  dream  with  widened  eyes  and 
an  exquisite  blush.  The  startled  face  which  for 

184 


one  moment  she  showed  her  laughing  mates  was 
of  a  beauty  so  intelligent  and  divine  that,  was  it 
so  she  looked,  a  many  King  Davids  had  found 
excuse  for  loving  one  Bathsheba.  Then  the 
inner  light  which  had  so  informed  every  feature 
sought  again  its  shrine,  and  Mistress  Damaris 
Sedley,  who  was  of  a  nature  admirably  poised 
and  a  wit  most  ready,  lifted  with  the  latest 
French  shrug  the  jest  from,  her  own  shoulders 
to  those  of  another:  "Oh,  madam!  was  it  you 
who  spoke  ?  Surely  I  thought  it  was  your  dead 
starling  that  you  taught  to  call  you  by  that 
name— but  whose  neck  you  wrung  when  it  called 
it  once  too  often!" 

Having  shot  her  forked  shaft  and  come  off 
victor,  she  smiled  so  sweetly  upon  the  gentle 
man  pensioner  that  for  such  ample  thanks  he 
had  been  reading  still  had  she  not  risen,  laid  her 
work  aside,  and  with  a  deep  and  graceful  cour 
tesy  to  the  merry  group  left  the  room.  When 
she  was  gone  one  sighed,  and  another  laughed, 
and  a  third  breathed,  "O  the  heavens!  to  love 
and  be  loved  like  that!" 

Damaris  threaded  the  palace  ways  until  she 
reached  the  chamber  which  she  shared  with  a 
'3  185 


g>tr   Jiorttmer 

laughter-loving  girl  from  her  own  countryside. 
Closed  and  darkened  was  the  little  room,  but  the 
maid  of  honor,  moving  to  the  window,  drew  the 
hangings  and  let  the  sunshine  in.  From  a  cab 
inet  she  took  a  book  in  manuscript,  then  with  it 
in  her  hands  knelt  upon  the  window-seat  and 
looked  out  upon  the  Thames.  She  did  not  read 
what  was  written  upon  the  leaves;  those  can^ 
zones  and  sonnets  that  were  her  love-letters  were 
known  to  her  by  heart,  but  she  liked  to  feel  them 
in  her  hands  while  her  gaze  went  down  the  river 
that  had  borne  his  ship  out  to  sea.  Where  was 
now  the  ship?  Like  a  white  sea-bird  her  fancy 
followed  it  by  day  and  by  night,  now  here,  now 
there,  through  storm  and  sunshine.  It  was  of 
the  dignity  of  her  nature  that  she  could  look 
steadfastly  upon  the  vision  of  it  in  storm  or  in 
battle.  There  were  times  when  she  was  sure 
that  it  was  in  danger,  when  her  every  breath 
was  a  prayer,  and  there  were  times,  as  on  this 
soft  autumnal  day,  when  her  spirit  drowsed  in  a 
languor  of  content,  a  sweet  assurance  of  all  love, 
all  life  to  come.  His  words  lay  beneath  her 
hand  and  in  her  heart;  she  pressed  her  brow 
against  the  glass,  and  as  from  a  watch-tower 

186 


looked  out  upon  the  earth,  a  fenced  garden,  and 
the  sea  a  sure  path  and  Time  a  strong  ally  speed 
ing  her  lover's  approach.  For  a  long  time  she 
knelt  thus,  lapped  in  happy  dreams;  then  the 
door  opened  and  in  came  her  chamber-fellow. 
"Damans!"  she  said,  and  again,  "Oh,  Damans, 
Damans!" 

Daman's  arose  from  the  window-seat  and  laid 
her  love-letters  away.  "  In  trouble  again,  Ce 
cily?"  she  asked,  and  her  voice  was  like  a  caress, 
for  the  girl  was  younger  than  herself.  "  I  know 
thy  'Oh,  Daman's,  Daman's F"  She  closed  the 
cabinet,  then  turning,  put  her  arm  around  her 
fellow  maid.  "What  is't,  sweeting?" 

Cecily  slipped  to  her  knees,  hiding  her  face  in 
the  other's  shimmering  skirts.  "  Thou'rt  so  dear, 
so  good,  and  so  proud.  ...  As  soon  as  I  might  I 
ran  hither,  for  every  moment  I  feared  to  see  thee 
enter!  Thou  wouldst  have  died  hadst  thou 
heard  it  there  in  the  great  antechamber,  where 
they  crowd  and  whisper  and  talk  aloud — and 
some,  I  know,  are  glad.  .  .  .  The  ships,  Damans- 
yesternight  two  of  the  ships  came  home." 

She  spoke  incoherently,  with  sobbing  breath, 
but  gradually  the  form  to  which  she  clung  had 


grown  rigid  in  her  embrace.  "  Two  of  the  ships 
have  come  home,"  repeated  Damaris.  "  Which 
came  not  home?" 

"The  Cygnet  and  the  Star" 

The  maid  of  honor,  unclasping  the  girl's  hands, 
glided  from  her  reach.  "Let  me  go,  good  Cis! 
Why,  how  stifling  is  the  day!"  She  put  her 
hand  to  her  ruff,  as  though  to  loosen  it,  but  the 
hand  dropped  again  to  her  side.  The  silken 
coverlet  upon  the  bed  was  awry ;  she  went  to  it 
and  laid  it  smooth  with  unhurried  touch.  From 
a  bowl  of  late  flowers  crimson  petals  had  fallen 
upon  the  table ;  she  gathered  them  up,  and  going 
to  the  casement,  gave  them,  one  by  one,  to  the 
winds  outside. 

"Damaris,  Damaris,  Damaris!"  cried  the 
frightened  girl. 

"  Ay,  I  have  heard  him  call  me  that,"  answered 
the  other.  "Sometimes  Damaris,  sometimes 
Dione.  When  did  he  die?" 

"  Oh,  I  bring  no  news  of  his  death!"  exclaimed 
Cecily.  "Sir  Mortimer  Feme  is  here — in  Lon 
don." 

Damaris,  swaying  forward,  caught  at  a  heavy 
settle,  sank  to  her  knee,  and  laid  her  brow  against 
188 


the  wood.  Cecily,  gazing  down  upon  her,  saw 
her  cheek  glow  pure  carnation,  saw  the  quiver 
ing  of  the  long  eyelashes  and  the  happy  trem 
bling  of  the  lip.  Presently  the  wave  of  color 
fled;  she  unclosed  her  eyes,  raised  her  head. 
"  But  there  was  something,  was  there  not,  to  be 
borne?  .  .  .  God  forgive  me,  I  had  forgot  that  I 
have  a  brother!" 

Cecily,  whose  courage  was  ebbing,  began  to 
deal  in  evasions.  "  Indeed  I  know  not  as  to  thy 
brother.  I  am  not  sure  . . .  mayhap  I  did  not  hear 
him  named.  .  .  .  They  said  so  many  things — 
all  might  not  be  true." 

Damaris  arose  from  the  settle.     "I  will  have 
thy  meaning,  Cis.     'They  said  so  many  things.' 
-Who  are  'they'?" 

Cecily  bit  her  lip,  and  dashed  away  fast-start 
ing  tears.  "  Oh,  Damaris,  all  who  have  heard— 
all  the  court — his  friends  and  thine  and  his  foes. 
The  matter's  all  abroad.  The  Queen  hath  let 
ters  from  Sir  John  Nevil — he  hath  been  sent  for 
to  the  Privy  Council— 

"Sir  John  Nevil  hath  been  sent  for? — Why 
not  Sir  Mortimer  Feme?  ...  Is  he  ill?  Is  he 
wounded?" 

189 


Cecily  wrung  her  hands.  "Now  I  must  tell 
thee.  ...  It  is  his  honor  that  doth  suffer.  There 
is  a  thing  that  he  did. — He  hath  confessed,  or 
surely  there  were  no  believing  .  .  .  Damaris,  they 
call  him  traitor.  .  .  .  Ah!" 

"Ay,  and  I'll  strike  thee  again  an  thou  say 
that  again!"  cried  Damaris. 

The  younger  woman  shrank  before  the  angry 
eyes,  the  disdain  of  the  smiling  lips.  Abruptly 
Damaris  moved  from  the  frightened  girl.  Upon 
the  wall,  above  a  dressing-table,  hung  a  Vene 
tian  mirror.  The  maid  of  honor  looked  at  her 
image  in  the  glass,  then  with  flying  fingers  undid 
and  laid  aside  her  ruff,  substituting  for  it  a 
structure  of  cobweb  lace,  between  whose  filmy 
walls  were  displayed  her  white  throat  and  bosom. 
Around  her  throat  she  clasped  three  rows  of 
pearls,  and  also  wound  with  pearls  her  dark- 
brown  hair.  Her  eyes  were  very  bright,  but 
there  was  no  color  in  her  face.  Delicately,  skil 
fully,  she  remedied  this,  until  with  shining  eyes 
and  that  false  bloom  upon  her  oval  cheeks  one 
would  have  sworn  she  was  as  joyous  as  she  was 
fair. 

Cecily,  watching  her  with  a  beating  heart,  at 
190 


DAMARIS,    THEY    CALL    HIM    TRAITOR 


&tr    fflortfmer 

last  broke  silence:  "Oh,  Damans,  whither  are 
you  going?" 

Damans  looked  over  her  shoulder.  "  After  a 
while  I  will  be  sorry  that  I  struck  thee,  Cis.  .  .  . 
I  am  going  to  talk  with  men . ' '  She  clasped  a  gold 
chain  about  her  slender  waist,  dashed  scented 
water  upon  her  hands,  glanced  at  her  full  and 
sweeping  skirts  of  green  silk  shot  with  silver. 
"  I  have  broken  my  fan,"  she  said ;  "  wilt  lend  me 
thy  great  plumed  one?"  Cecily  brought  the 
splendid  toy.  The  maid  of  honor  took  it  from 
her;  then,  with  a  last  glance  at  the  mirror,  swept 
towards  the  door,  but  on  the  threshold  turned 
and  came  back  for  one  moment  to  her  chamber- 
fellow.  "Forgive  me,  Cis,"  she  said,  and  kissed 
the  girl's  wet  cheek. 

The  great  anteroom  had  its  usual  throng  of 
courtiers,  those  of  a  day  and  those  whose  ghosts 
might  come  to  haunt  the  floors  that  their  mortal 
feet  so  oft  had  trodden.  Men  of  note  and  worth 
were  there,  and  men  of  no  other  significance  than 
that  wrought  by  rich  apparel.  Here  men  brought 
their  dearest  hopes  and  fears,  and  here  they  came 
to  flaunt  a  feather  or  to  tell  a  traveller's  tale. 
It  was  the  place  of  deferred  hopes  and  the  place 
191 


jg>tr    fHor 

of  poisoned  tongues,  and  the  place  in  which  to 
suck  the  last  sweet  drop  in  an  enemy's  cup  of 
trembling.  It  was  the  haunt  of  laughter  and  of 
fevered  wit  and  of  rivalry  in  all  things,  and  here 
the  heaviest  of  heart  was  not  unlike  to  be  the 
lightest  of  wit.  The  spirit  of  party  never  left  its 
walls,  and  Ambition  was  its  chamberlain.  The 
envied  and  the  envious  walked  there,  and  there 
hung  the  .sword  of  Damocles  and  the  invisible 
balances.  Here,  in  one  corner,  might  lord  it  one 
on  whom  Fortune  broadly  smiled,  while  around 
him  buzzed  the  gilded  parasites,  and  here,  ten 
feet  away,  his  rival  felt  the  knife  turn  in  his 
heart.  To-morrow — to-morrow's  old  trick  of 
legerdemain!  there  the  knife,  here  the  smiling 
face,  and  for  the  cloud  of  sycophants  mere  change 
of  venue.  It  was  a  land  of  air-castles  and  rain 
bow  gold,  a  fool's  paradise  and  the  garden  where 
grew  most  thickly  the  apples  of  Sodom.  In  it 
were  caged  all  greed,  all  extravagance,  all  jeal 
ousies;  hopes,  fears,  passions  that  may  be  born 
of  and  destroy  the  soul  of  man ;  and  within  it  also 
flamed  splendid  folly  and  fealty  to  some  fixed 
star,  and  courage  past  disputing,  and  clear  love 
of  God  and  country.  Yonder  glass  of  fashion 

192 


and  mould  of  form  had  stood  knee-deep  in  an 
Irish  bog  keeping  through  a  winter's  night  a 
pack  of  savages  at  bay;  this  jester  at  a  noble's 
elbow  knew  when  to  speak  in  earnest ;  and  this, 
a  suitor  with  no  present  in  his  hand,  so  lightly 
esteemed  as  scarce  to  seem  an  actor  in  the  pag 
eant,  might  to-night  take  his  pen  and  give  to 
after-time  a  priceless  gift.  Soldiers,  idle  gallants, 
gentlemen  and  officers  of  the  court;  men  of  law 

id  men  of  affairs ;  churchmen,  poets,  foreigners, 
idthrifts,  gulls,  satellites,  and  kinsmen  of 
great  lords;  the  wise,  the  foolish,  the  noble  and 
the  base— up  and  down  moved  the  restless,  brill 
iant  throng.  Some  excitement  was  toward,  for 
the  great  room  buzzed  with  talk.  The  courtiers 
drew  together  in  groups,  and  it  seemed  that  a 
man's  name  was  being  bandied  to  and  fro,  dark 
shuttlecock  to  this  painted  throng.  Damaris 
Sedley,  entering  the  antechamber  by  a  small  side 
door,  swam  into  the  ken  of  a  number  of  eager 
players  gathered  around  a  gentleman  of  flushed 
countenance,  who,  with  much  swiftness  and  dex 
terity,  was  wreaking  old  grudges  upon  the  shut 
tlecock. 

One  of  the  audience  trod  upon  the  player's 
193 


Mortimer 

toe;  each  courtier  bowed  until  his  sword  stood 
out  a  straight  line  of  steel;  the  maid  of  honor 
curtsied,  waved  her  fan,  let  her  handkerchief  fall 
to  the  floor.  To  seize  the  piece  of  lawn  all  en 
tered  the  lists,  for  the  lady  was  very  beautiful, 
and  of  a  seductive,  fine,  and  subtle  charm;  a 
favorite  also  of  the  Queen,  who,  Narcissus-like, 
saw  only  her  own  beauty,  and  believed  that  Sir 
Mortimer  Feme's  veiled  divinity  was  rather  to 
be  found  on  Olympus  than  upon  the  plains  be 
neath.  In  sheer  loveliness,  with  lips  like  a 
pomegranate  flower,  mobile  face  of  clear  pallor, 
and  beneath  level  brows  eyes  whose  color  it 
was  hard  to  guess  at  and  whose  depths  were  past 
all  sounding,  Mistress  Damaris  Sedley  held  her 
small  head  high  and  went  her  graceful  way,  mov 
ing  as  one  enchanted  over  the  thorny  floor  of  the 
court.  She  had  great  charm.  Once  it  had  been 
said  beneath  a  royal  commissioner's  breath  that 
here  in  this  portionless  girl  was  a  twin  sorceress 
to  the  Queen  who  dwelt  at  Tutbury. 

Sorceress  enough,  at  least,  was  she  to  draw  to 
herself  speech  and  thought  of  this  particular 
group;  to  make  those  who  were  ignorant  of  her 
relation  to  the  shuttlecock  think  less  of  the  treas- 

194 


ure  of  Spain  than  of  the  treasure  which  their 
eyes  beheld,  and  those  who  had  been  his  friends, 
who  guessed  at  whom  had  been  levelled  those 
fair  arrows  of  song,  to  start  full  cry  (when  they 
had  noted  that  she  was  merry)  upon  other  mat 
ters  than  lost  ships  and  men.  It  was  not  long 
that  she  would  have  it  so.  "As  I  entered,  sir, 
I  heard  you  name  the  Star.  That  was  one  of 
Sir  John  Nevil's  ships.  Is  there  news  of  his  ad 
venture?" 

The  man  to  whom  she  spoke,  some  mere  Hedon 
of  the  court,  fluttered  in  the  frank  sunshine  of 
her  look.  "Fair  gentlewoman,"  he  began,  po 
mander-ball  in  hand,  "  had  you  a  venture  in  that 
ship  ?  Then  the  less  beauteous  Amphitrite  hath 
played  highwayman  to  your  wealth.  Now  if  I 
might,  drawing  from  the  storehouse  of  your 
smiles  inveterate  Courage,  dub  myself  your 
Valor,  and  so  to  the  rescue — " 

"  Oh,  sir,  at  once  I  dismiss  you  to  Amphitrite' s 
court !' '  cried  the  lady.  ' '  Master  Darrell, '  '—to  a 
dark-browed,  saturnine  personage, — "  tell  me  less 
of  Amphitrite  and  more  of  the  truth.  The 
Star— " 

He  whom  she  addressed  loved  not  the  shuttle- 
195 


g>tr   :ffl0r 

cock,  thought  one  woman  but  falser  than  an 
other,  and  made  parade  of  blunt  speech.  Now 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulder  accompanied  his  answer. 
11  The  Star  went  down  months  ago,  off  the  Grand 
Canary,  in  a  storm  by  night." 

"  Alack  the  day !"  cried  Damans.  "  But  God, 
not  man,  sendeth  the  storm !  Was  none  saved?" 

"All  were  saved,"  went  on  her  grim  informant ; 
"  but  well  for  them  had  they  died  with  their  ship, 
in  the  salt  sea — Captain  Robert  Baldry  and  his 
men — 

A  murmur  ran  through  the  group,  which  now 
numbered  more  than  one  who  could  have  shrewd 
ly  guessed  to  whom  this  lady  had  given  her  love. 
Some  would  have  stayed  Black  Darrell,  but  not 
the  Queen  herself  could  have  bidden  him  on 
with  more  imperious  gesture  than  did  Damaris. 
"Saved  from  the  sea  —  but  better  they  had 
drowned!  You  speak  in  riddles,  Master  Darrell. 
Where  are  Captain  Robert  Baldry  and  his  men?" 

A  young  man  hurriedly  approached  her  from 
another  quarter  of  the  room.  Men  bowed  low 
as  he  passed,  and  the  circle  about  the  maid  of 
honor  received  him  with  a  deference  it  scarce  had 
shown  to  Beauty's  self. 

196 


g>tr   iHnrttmrr 

"Ha,  Mistress  Damans!"  he  cried,  with  some 
what  of  a  forced  gayety,  "my  sister  sends  mes 
sages  to  you  from  Wilton!  The  day  is  fair — 
wilt  walk  with  me  in  the  garden  and  hear  her 
letter?" 

The  maid  of  honor  gave  him  no  answer ;  stood 
smiling,  the  plumed  fan  waving,  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  Black  Darrell,  who  scorned  to  budge  an 
inch  for  any  court  favorite  and  friend  of  the  shut 
tlecock's.  Damaris  repeated  her  question,  and 
he  answered  it  with  relish. 

"  Betrayed  to  the  Spaniard,  madam, — they  and 
many  a  goodly  gentleman  and  tall  fellow  beside ! 
If  they  died,  they  died  with  curses  on  their  lips, 
and  if  they  live,  they  bide  with  the  Holy  Office 
or  in  the  galleys  of  Spain." 

He  who  had  joined  the  group  interrupted  him 
sternly.  "  This,  sir,  is  no  speech  for  gentle  ears. 
Madam,  beseech  you,  come  with  me  into  the  long 
walk." 

The  courage  of  a  fighting  race  looked  from  the 
maid  of  honor's  darkening  eyes.  The  small  head 
and  slender,  aching  throat  were  held  with  pride, 
and  the  hand  scarce  trembled  with  which  she 
waved  Cecily's  plumed  fan.  "  I  have  a  venture 
197 


in  this  voyage,"  she  said.  "  Certes,  the  value  of 
a  pearl  necklace,  and  I  will  know  if  I  am  beg 
gared  of  it!  Moreover,  dear  Sir  Philip,  English 
courage  and  English  tragedy  do  move  me  more 
than  all  the  tangled  woes  of  Arcadia.  .  .  .  Master 
Darrell,  I  have  hopes  of  thy  being  no  courtier, 
thou  dost  speak  so  to  the  point.  Again,  again, 
— there  were  three  ships,  the  Mere  Honour,  the 
Marigold,  and  the  Cygnet — ': 

"They  took  a  great  galleon  of  Spain,"  said 
Black  Darrell,  "very  rich, — enough  so  to  have 
paid  your  venture  a  hundred  times  over,  lady, 
and  they  stormed  a  town,  and  might  have  taken 
a  great  castle,  for  they  landed  all  their  forces,  of 
which  Sir  John  Nevil  made  admirable  disposi 
tion.  But  there  was  an  Achan  in  the  camp,  a 
betrayer  high  in  place,  who  laid  his  body  and  his 
life  in  the  balance  against  his  honor.  The  Span 
ish  guns  mowed  down  the  English ;  they  fell  into 
pits  upon  pointed  stakes ;  Spanish  horsemen  rode 
them  under.  Meanwhile  the  Cygnet,  traitorous 
as  its  Captain — " 

"Traitorous  as  its  Captain?"  flamed  the  maid 
of  honor.  "But  on,  sir,  on!  Afterwards  there 
will  be  accounting  for  so  vile  a  falsehood!" 

198 


Another  movement  and  murmur  ran  through 
the  group,  checked  by  Damans' s  raised  hand 
and  burning  eyes.  "On,  sir,  on!" 

Darrell  shrugged.  "Oh,  madam,  the  loyal 
Cygnet  would  have  it  that  that  fair  cockatrice 
the  galleon  was  her  own !  So  in  flame  and  thun 
der  they  kissed,  but  now,  quiet  enough,  they  lie 
upon  the  sea-floor,  they  and  the  spilled  treasure." 

Damaris  moistened  her  lips.  "  Where  are  the 
brave  and  gallant  gentlemen  who  led  this  vent 
ure?  Where  is  Sir  John  Nevil?  Where  is  Sir 
Mortimer  Feme?" 

Darrell  would  have  answered  blithe  enough, 
but  the  man  who  had  interfered  now  pushed 
the  other  aside,  came  close  to  the  maid  of  honor, 
and  spoke  with  decision.  "  Gentlemen,  this  lady 
had  a  brother  of  much  promise  who  sailed  upon 
the  Cygnet.  .  .  .  Ah!  you  perceive  that  such  con 
verse  in  her  presence  is  not  gentle  nor  seemly." 
He  took  Damaris' s  hand;  it  was  quite  cold. 
"Sweet  lady,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "come 
with  me  from  out  this  gallimaufry."  He  bent 
nearer,  so  that  none  but  she  could  hear.  "  I  will 
tell  you  all.  It  fits  not  with  the  dignity  of  your 
sorrow  that  you  should  remain  here." 

14  199 


Damaris's  bosom  rose  and  fell  in  a  long  shud 
dering  sigh.  The  room  that  was  so  large  and 
bright  swam  before  her,  appeared  to  grow  nar 
row,  dark,  and  stifling.  A  hateful  and  terrible 
presence  overshadowed  her;  it  was  as  though 
she  had  but  to  put  forth  her  hand  to  touch  a 
coffin-lid.  She  no  longer  saw  the  forms  about 
her,  scarce  felt  the  pressure  of  Sidney's  hand, 
knew  not,  so  brave  a  lady  was  she,  so  fixed  her 
habit  of  the  court,  that  she  smiled  upon  the 
group  she  was  leaving  and  swept  them  a  formal 
curtsy.  She  found  herself  in  the  deserted  outer 
gallery  with  Sidney, — they  were  in  the  recess  of 
a  window,  and  he  was  speaking.  She  put  her 
hand  to  her  brow.  "Is  Henry  Sedley  dead?" 
she  asked. 

He  answered  her  as  simply :  "  Yes,  lady,  brave 
ly  dead — a  good  knight  who  rode  steadfastly  to 
that  noblest  Court  of  which  all  earthly  courts 
are  but  flawed  copies." 

As  he  spoke  he  regarded  her  anxiously,  fearing 
a  swoon  or  a  cry,  but  instead  she  smiled,  looking 
at  him  with  dazed  eyes,  and  her  white  hand  yet 
at  her  forehead.  "  I  am  his  only  sister,"  she  said, 
"  and  we  have  no  father  nor  mother  nor  brother. 

200 


g>tr    fHorttmer 

We  have  been  much  together — all  our  lives — 
and  we  are  tender  of  each  other.  .  .  .  Death!  I 
never  thought  that  death  could  touch  him;  no, 
not  upon  this  voyage. — There  was  one  who  swore 
to  guard  him." 

Her  companion  made  no  answer,  and  she  stood 
for  a  few  moments  without  further  word  or  mo 
tion,  slowly  remembering  Darren"  s  words.  Then 
a  slight  lifting  of  her  head,  a  gradual  stiffening 
of  her  frame ;  her  hand  fell,  and  the  expression  of 
her  face  changed — no  speech,  but  parted  lips, 
and  eyes  that  at  once  appealed  and  commanded. 
She  might  have  been  some  dark  queen  of  a 
statelier  world  awaiting  tidings  that  would  make 
or  mar.  He  was  the  most  chivalric,  the  best- 
loved,  spirit  of  his  time,  and  his  heart  ached  that, 
like  his  own  Amphialus,  he  must  deal  so  sweet  a 
soul  so  deadly  a  blow.  Seeing  that  it  must  be 
so,  he  told  quietly  and  with  proper  circumstance, 
not  the  wild  exaggeration  and  tales  of  afore 
thought  treason  which  rumor  had  caught  up 
and  flung  into  the  court,  but  the  story  as  Sir  John 
Nevil  had  delivered  it  to  the  Privy  Council. 
Even  so,  it  was,  inevitably,  to  this  man  and  this 
woman,  the  story  of  one  who  had  spoken  where 

201 


he  should  have  bitten  out  his  tongue;  who,  all 
unwillingly  it  might  be,  had  yet  betrayed  his 
comrades,  who  had  set  a  slur  and  a  stain  upon 
his  order. 

"He  himself  accuseth  himself,"  ended  the 
speaker,  with  a  groan.  "Avoweth  that,  wrung 
by  their  hellish  torments,  he  made  his  honor  of 
no  account;  prayeth  for  death." 

Damaris  stood  upright  against  the  mullioned 
window. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  asked,  and  there  was  that 
in  her  voice  which  a  man  might  not  understand. 
He  paused  a  moment  as  for  consideration,  then 
drew  from  his  doublet  a  folded  paper,  gave  it  to 
her,  and  turned  aside.  The  maid  of  honor,  open 
ing  it,  read: 

To  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Greeting: 

Doubtless  thou  hast  heard  by  now  of  how  all  mischance 
and  disaster  befell  the  adventure.  For  myself,  who  was 
thy  friend,  I  will  show  thee  in  lines  of  thy  own  making 
what  men  hereafter  (and  justly)  will  say  of  me  who  am 
thy  friend  no  longer: 

"His  death-bed  peacock's  folly, 

His  winding-sheet  is  shame. 
His  will,  false-seeming  wholly. 
His  sole  executor  blame." 

202 


Lo!  I  have  given  space  enough  to  a  coward's  epitaph. 
Of  our  friendship  of  old  I  will  speak  no  farther  than  to 
cry  to  its  -fleeing  shadow  for  one  last  favor — then  all's 
past. 

I  wish  to  have  speech,  alone,  with  Mistress  Damaris 
Sedley.  It  must  be  quickly,  for  I  know  not  what  the 
Queen's  disposition  of  me  may  be.  For  God's  sake, 
Philip  Sidney,  get  me  this!  I  am  not  yet  under  arrest — 
/  am  hard  by  the  Palace,  at  the  Bell  Inn. —  You  may 
effect  it  if  you  will.  God  knows  you  have  a  silver  tongue 
and  she  a  heart  of  gold!  I  trust  her  to  give  me  speech  with 
her  as  I  trust  you  to  -find  tlie  way. 

Time  was,  thy  friend;  time  is,  thy  suppliant  only. 

MORTIMER  FERNE. 

0  Sidney,  Sidney!    I  am  not  altogether  base! 

The  maid  of  honor  folded  the  letter,  keeping  it, 
however,  in  her  hand.  Her  companion,  turning 
towards  her,  chanced  to  see  her  face  of  sombre 
horror,  of  wide,  tearless  eyes,  and  would  look  no 
more.  To  themselves  the  two  were  modern  of 
the  moderns,  ranked  in  the  forefront  of  the  pres 
ent;  courtier,  statesman,  and  poet  of  the  day, 
exquisite  maid  of  honor  whose  every  hour  con 
vention  governed, — yet  the  face  upon  which  in 
one  revealing  moment  he  had  gazed  seemed  not 
less  old  than  the  face  of  Helen — of  Medea — of 
Ariadne;  not  less  old  and  not  less  imperishably 

203 


beautiful.  Neither  spoke  of  her  idyll  turned  to 
a  crowder's  song.  Knowing  that  there  were  no 
words  which  she  could  bear,  he  waited,  his  mind 
filled  with  deep  pity,  hers  with  God  knows  what 
complexity,  what  singleness  of  feeling,  until  at 
last  a  low  sound — no  intelligible  word — came  from 
her  throat.  The  plumed  fan  dropped  the  length 
of  its  silken  cord,  and  her  hands  went  out  for 
help  that  should  yet  be  voiceless,  assuming  ev 
erything,  expressing  nothing.  He  met  her  call, 
as  three  years  later  he  met,  at  Zutphen,  the  agony 
of  envy,  the  appeal  against  intolerable  thirst,  in 
the  eyes  of  a  common  soldier. 

"No  command  concerning  him  has  yet  been 
given,"  he  said,  gently.  "  I  sent  him  mask  and 
cloak — he  came  by  yonder  way, — met  me  here. 
.  .  .  There  were  few  words.  .  .  .  His  humor  is 
that  of  glancing  steel." 

"That  is  as  it  should  be,"  answered  the  maid 
of  honor. 

Her  companion  parted  the  hangings  which 
separated  the  two  from  the  gallery.  "  He 
awaits  behind  yonder  door  where  stands  the 
boy."  Ceremoniously  he  took  her  hand  and  led 
her  to  an  entrance  beside  which  leaned  a  slender 

204 


§>ir    1H  n  r  i  i  m  ?  r 

lad  in  a  ragged  blue  jerkin  and  hose.  ''Robin, 
you  will  watch  yonder  at  the  great  doors.  Sweet 
lady,  I  stand  here,  and  none  shall  enter.  But 
remember  that  the  time  is  short — at  any  moment 
the  gallery  may  fill." 

"  There  is  no  long  time  needed,"  said  Damaris. 
In  her  voice  there  was  no  anger  nor  shame  nor 
poignant  grief,  but  she  spoke  as  in  a  dream,  and 
her  face  when  she  turned  it  towards  him  was 
strange  once  more,  like  the  face  of  Fatal  Love 
rising  clear  from  the  crash  of  its  universe.  She 
had  drunk  the  half  of  a  bitter  cup,  and  the  re 
mainder  she  must  drink ;  but  when  all  was  said, 
she  was  going,  after  weary  months,  to  see  the  face 
of  the  man  she  loved.  Philip  Sidney  lifted  the 
latch  of  the  door,  saw  her  enter,  and  let  it  fall 
behind  her. 

The  room  in  which  she  found  herself  was  ruddy 
with  firelight,  the  flames  coloring  the  marble 
chimney-piece  and  causing  faint  shadows  to 
chase  one  another  across  an  arras  embroidered 
with  a  hunting  scene.  Upon  a  heavy  table  were 
thrown  a  cloak  and  mask. 

The  man  who  had  worn  them  turned  from  the 
window,  came  forward  a  few  paces,  and  stood 

205 


still.  Damaris  put  forth  her  hand,  and  leaned 
for  strength  against  the  chimney-piece — a  beau 
tiful  woman  in  the  heart  of  the  glow  from  the 
fire.  At  first  she  said  no  word,  for  she  was  think 
ing  dully.  "  If  he  comes  no  nearer,  it  must  be 
true.  If  he  crosses  not  the  shadow  on  the  floor 
between  us,  it  must  be  true."  At  last  she  asked, 
in  a  low  voice, 

"Is  it  true?" 

In  the  profound  silence  that  followed  she  made 
a  step  forward  out  of  the  red  glow  towards  the 
bar  of  shadow.  Feme  stayed  her  with  a  gesture 
of  his  hand. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  he  said.  "  It  is  true,  unless, 
indeed,  there  be  no  answer  to  Pilate's  'What  is 
truth?'  For  myself,  I  walk  in  a  whirling  world 
and  a  darkness  shot  with  fire.  Did  I  do  this 
thing?  Yea,  verily,  I  did!  Then,  seeing  that 
I  dwell  not  in  Edmund  Spenser's  faerie-land  nor 
believe  that  an  enchanter's  wand  may  make 
white  seem  black  and  black  seem  white,  I  now 
see  myself  nakedly  as  I  am, — a  man  who  knew 
not  himself;  a  sword,  jewel -hilted,  with  a 
blade  of  lath ;  a  gay  masker  whom,  his  vizard ' 
torn  away,  the  servants  thrust  forth  into  the 

206 


cold!     I  am  my  own  assassin,  forger,  abhorred 
fool!" 

He  paused,  and  the  embers  fell,  growing  gray 
in  the  silence.  At  last  he  spoke  again,  in  a 
changed  voice.  "  Thy  brother,  lady.  .  .  .  There 
will  not  lack  those  to  tell  thee  that  I  tripped  him 
with  my  foot,  that  I  slew  him  with  my  dagger. 
It  is  not  true,  and  yet  I  count  myself  his  mur 
derer.  .  .  .  See  the  shadow  at  thy  feet,  the  heavy 
shadow  that  lies  between  you  and  me!  .  .  .  How 
may  I  say  that  I  would  have  given  my  life  for 
him  who  was  thy  brother  and  my  charge,  whom 
for  his  own  sake  I  loved,  when  I  gave  not  my  life, 
when  I  bought  my  life  with  his  and  many  an 
other's?  .  .  .  Thou  dost  well  to  say  no  word,  but 
I  would  that  thou  didst  not  press  thy  hands 
against  thy  heart,  nor  look  at  me  with  those 
eyes.  A  little  longer  and  I  will  let  thee  go,  and 
Sidney's  sister  will  comfort  thee  and  be  kind  to 
thee." 

"What  else?"  said  Damaris,  beneath  her 
breath.  "What  else?  O  God!  no  more!" 

Feme  drew  from  his  doublet  a  knot  of  soiled 
ribbon.  Again  he  was  speaking,  but  not  with 
the  voice  he  had  used  before.  "Thy  favor.  .  .  . 

207 


g>tr 

I  have  brought  it  back  to  thee — but  not  stainless, 
not  worn  in  triumph.  .  .  .There  is  a  fortress  and 
a  town  that  I  see  sometimes  in  a  dream,  and  the 
governor  of  them  both  is  a  nobleman  of  Spain- 
Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola,  Governor  of  Nueva  Cor 
doba.  He  niched  from  me  my  honor,  but  left 
me  life  that  I  might  taste  death  in  life.  He  set 
me  on  the  river  sands  that  I  might  call  to  the 
ships  I  had  not  sunken  and  to  the  comrades  I 
had  not  slain.  He  gave  me  back  my  sword  that 
in  the  cabin  of  the  Mere  Honour,  in  my  leader's 
presence,  I  might  break  the  blade  in  twain.  He 
restored  me  this  when  he  had  ground  it  beneath 
his  heel! — No,  no,  I  will  not  have  you  speak! 
But  was  he  not  a  subtle  gentleman  ?  .  .  .  Now,  by 
your  leave,  I  shall  burn  the  ribbon." 

He  crossed  to  the  great  fireplace  and  threw  the 
length  of  velvet  ribbon  into  a  glowing  hollow. 
It  caught  and  blazed  and  illuminated  his  face. 
Damaris  moved  also,  groping  with  her  hands  for 
the  chair  beside  the  table.  Finding  it,  she  sank 
down,  outstretched  her  arms  upon  the  board, 
and  bowed  her  head  upon  them.  Through  the 
faintness  and  the  leaden  horror  that  weighed  her 
down  she  heard  Feme's  voice,  at  first  yet  monot- 

208 


g>ir 

onous  and  low,  at  the  last  an  irrepressible  cry  of 
passion : 

"  Now  there  is  no  longer  troth  between  us,  and 
all  thy  days,  by  summer  and  by  winter,  thou 
mayst  listen  unabashed  to  tales  of  such  as  I. 
If  I  am  named  to  thee,  thou  needst  not  blush, 
for  now  I  have  seared  away  that  eve  above  the 
river,  that  morn  at  Penshurst.  And  there  will 
be  no  more  singing,  and  men  will  soon  forget,  as 
thou  too — as  thou  too  must  forget!  I  loved;  I 
love;  but  to  thy  lips  and  thy  dark,  dark  eyes, 
and  thy  whole  sweet  self  I  say  farewell.  .  .  .  Fare 
well!" 

She  was  aware  of  his  step  beside  her;  knew 
that  he  had  lifted  the  cloak  and  mask  from  the 
table;  thought  that  but  for  this  all-enfolding 
heaviness  she  \vould  speak.  .  .  .  The  door  opened, 
and  Sidney's  voice  reached  her  in  a  low,  per 
emptory  "  At  once!"  A  pause  that  seemed  filled 
with  laboring  breath,  then  footsteps  passed  her; 
the  door  closed.  Alone,  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
stood  for  a  moment  with  her  hands  at  her  tem 
ples,  then  moved  with  an  uncertain  step  to  the 
fire,  where  she  sank  down  upon  the  rushes  and 
tried  to  warm  herself.  Something  among  the 

209 


ashes  drew  her  attention.     In  went  her  hand, 
and  out  came  a  charred  end  of  velvet  ribbon. 

She  sat  before  the  fire  for  some  time,  dully 
conscious  of  sound  and  movement  in  the  gallery 
without,  but  caring  nothing.  When  at  last  she 
arose  and  left  the  room  all  was  quiet  enough,  and 
she  reached  her  own  chamber  unmolested. 
Towards  evening  Cecily,  fluttering  in  after  long 
hours  of  attendance,  found  her  in  her  night-rail, 
half  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  half  fallen  upon  the 
floor.  .  .  .  The  Countess  of  Pembroke  was  not 
at  court,  and  there  was  none  besides  whom  Cecily 
cared  or  dared  to  call ;  so,  terrified,  she  watched 
out  the  night  beside  a  Damaris  she  had  never 
known. 

Philip  Sidney's  low  voice  had  been  urgent,  and 
the  man  who  owed  to  him  a  perilous  assignation 
made  no  tarrying.  With  his  cloak  drawn  about 
his  face,  and  his  hand  busy  with  the  small  black 
mask,  he  passed  swiftly  along  the  gallery  tow 
ards  the  door  through  which  he  had  obtained  en 
trance  and  where  Sidney  now  waited  with  an 
anxious  brow.  It  was  too  late.  Suddenly  be 
fore  him,  at  the  head  of  a  short  flight  of  stairs, 

210 


g>ir    fHnr 

the  massive  leaves  of  the  great  doors  swung  open 
and  halberdiers  appeared — beyond  them  a  con 
fused  yet  stately  approach  of  sound  and  color 
and  indistinguishable  forms.  The  halberdiers 
advanced,  a  double  line  forming  an  aisle  for  the 
passage  of  some  brilliant  throng,  and  cutting  off 
the  door  of  escape.  Feme  looked  over  his  shoul 
der.  From  doors  now  opened  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  gallery  people  were  entering,  were  ranging 
themselves  along  the  walls.  There  was  a  glimpse 
of  a  crowd  without;  beyond  them,  the  palace 
stairs  and  the  silver  Thames.  A  trumpet  blew, 
and  the  crowd  shouted,  God  save  the  Queen  ! 

The  tide  of  color  rolled  through  the  great 
inner  doors,  down  to  the  level  of  the  gallery,  and 
so  on  towards  the  river  and  the  waiting  barges. 
It  caught  upon  its  crest  Philip  Sidney,  who, 
striving  in  vain  to  make  his  way  back  to  where 
Feme  was  standing,  had  received  from  the  latter 
a  most  passionate  and  vehement  gesture  of  dis 
suasion.  On  came  the  bright  wave,  with  men 
ace  of  discomfiture  and  shame,  towards  the  man 
who,  surrounded  though  he  was  by  petty  cour 
tiers,  citizens,  and  country  knights,  could  hardly 
fail  of  recognition.  Impossible  now  was  his  dis- 

211 


guise,  where  every  hat  was  off,  where  a  velvet 
cloak  swung  from  a  shoulder  was  one  thing,  and 
a  mantle  of  frieze  quite  another.  He  dropped 
the  latter  at  his  feet,  crushed  the  light  mask  in 
his  hand,  and  waited. 

It  was  not  for  long.  Down  upon  him  swept 
the  cortege — the  heart  of  the  court  of  a  virgin 
Queen.  At  once  keenly  and  as  in  a  dream  he 
viewed  it.  Not  less  withdrawn  was  it  now  than 
a  fairy  pageant  clear  cut  against  rosy  skies  and 
watched  by  him  from  the  stony  bases  of  inac 
cessible  cliffs  —  and  yet  it  was  familiar,  goodly, 
his  old  accustomed  company.  This  face — and 
that — and  that !  how  he  startled  from  it  laughter 
or  indifference  or  vagrant  thought.  There  were 
low  exclamations,  a  woman's  slight  scream, 
pause,  confusion,  and  from  the  rear  an  authori 
tative  voice  demanding  reason  for  the  delay. 
Past  him,  staring  and  murmuring,  swept  the  pea 
cock-tinted  vanguard;  then,  Burleigh  on  one 
hand,  Leicester  on  the  other,  encompassed  and 
followed  by  the  greatest  names  and  the  fairest 
faces  of  England,  herself  erect,  ablaze  with  jew 
els,  conscious  of  her  power  and  at  all  times  ready 
to  wield  it,  came  the  daughter  of  Henry  the  Eighth. 

212 


A  noble  presence  moving  in  the  full  lustre  of 
sovereignty,  a  princess  who,  despite  all  woman 
ish  faults,  was  a  wise  king  unto  her  people,  a 
maiden  ruler  to  whom  in  that  aftermath  of  chiv 
alry  men  gave  a  personal  regard,  rose-colored 
and  fanciful;  the  woman  not  above  coquetry, 
vanity,  and  double-dealing,  the  monarch  whose 
hand  was  heavy  upon  the  council  board,  whose 
will  perverted  law,  whose  prime  wish  was  the 
welfare  of  her  people — she  drew  near  to  the  man 
to  whom  she  had  shown  fair  promise  of  settled 
favor,  but  to  whose  story,  told  by  his  Admiral 
and  commented  upon  by  those  about  her,  she 
had  that  day  listened  between  bursts  of  her 
great  oaths  and  with  an  ominous  flashing  of  jew 
els  upon  her  hands. 

Now  her  quick  glance  singled  him  out  from  the 
lesser  folk  with  whom  he  stood.  She  colored 
sharply,  took  two  or  three  impetuous  steps,  then, 
indignant,  stayed  with  her  lifted  hand  the  prog 
ress  of  her  train.  Feme  knelt.  In  the  sudden 
silence  Elizabeth's  voice,  shaken  with  anger,  made 
itself  heard  through  half  the  length  of  the  gallery. 

"What  make  you  here?  Who  has  dared  to 
do  this — to  place  this  man  here?" 

213 


"  Myself  alone,  madam,"  answered  quickly  the 
man  at  her  feet.  With  a  motion  of  his  hand  he 
indicated  the  long  cloak  beside  him.  "  I  had 
but  made  entrance  into  the  gallery — I  was  taken 
unawares— 

"Hast  a  knife  beneath  your  cloak?"  burst 
forth  the  Queen.  "I  hear  that  right  royally 
you  gave  my  subjects'  lives  to  the  Spaniard. 
There's  a  death  that  would  more  greatly 
please  those  that  mastered  you !  .  .  .  Answer 
me!" 

"  I  have  no  words,"  said  Feme,  in  a  low  voice. 
As  he  spoke  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  Maj 
esty  in  the  face. 

Again  Elizabeth  colored,  and  her  jewels  shook 
and  sparkled.  "If  not  that,  what  then?"  she 
cried.  "God's  death!  Is't  the  Spanish  fashion 
to  wear  disgrace  as  a  favor?  Again,  sir,  what 
do  you  here?" 

"  I  came  as  a  ghost  might  come,"  answered 
1'Vnic.  "Thinks  not  your  Grace  that  the  spir 
its  of  disgraced  and  banished  men,  or  men  whose 
f; u ill,  mayhap,  brought  forfeiture  of  their  lives, 
may  strain  to  make  return  to  that  spot  where 
they  felt  no  guilt,  where  they  were  greatly  happy? 

214 


As  such  an  one  might  come  and  no  man  see  him, 
hurt  or  to  be  hurt  of  him,  so  came  I,  restless,  a 
thing  of  naught,  a  shade  drawn  to  look  once  more 
upon  old  ways,  old  walls,  the  place  where  once  I 
freely  walked.  None  brought  me;  none  stayed 
me,  for  am  I  not  a  ghost?  I  only  grieve  that 
your  Grace's  clear  eyes  should  have  marked  this 
shade  of  what  I  was,  for  most  unwittingly  I,  un- 
commanded.  find  myself  in  your  Grace's  pres 
ence."  He  bent  lower,  touched  the  hem  of  her 
magnificent  robe,  and  his  voice,  which  had  been 
quite  even  and  passionless,  changed  in  tone. 
"  For  the  rest — whether  I  am  yet  to  hold  myself 
at  your  Grace's  pleasure,  or  whether  you  give 
me  sentence  now — God  save  your  Majesty  and 
prevent  your  enemies  at  home  and  abroad — God 
bring  downfall  and  confusion  upon  the  Spaniard 
and  all  traitors  who  abet  him — God  save  Queen 
Elizabeth!" 

There  followed  a  pause,  during  which  could  be 
heard  the  murmur  of  the  waiting  throng  and  the 
autumnal  rustle  of  the  trees  without  the  gallery. 
At  last: 

"Yours  was  ever  an  eloquent  tongue,  Sir 
Mortimer  Feme,"  said  the  Queen,  slowly. 
15  215 


j&tr    Jflnritmrr 

"  Hadst  thou  known  when  to  hold  it,  much  might 
have  been  different.  .  .  .  Thy  father  served  us 
well,  and  once  we  slept  at  his  ancient  house  of 
Feme,  rich  only  in  the  valor  and  loyal  deeds  of 
its  masters,  from  old  times  until  our  own.  .  .  . 
What  is  lost  is  lost,  and  other  and  greater  matters 
clamor  for  our  attention.  Go!  hold  thyself  a 
prisoner,  at  our  pleasure,  in  thy  house  of  Feme ! 
If  thou  art  but  a  shade  with  other  shadows,  then 
seek  the  company  of  thy  dead  father  and  of  other 
loyal  and  gallant  gentlemen  of  thy  name.  Per 
chance,  one  and  all,  they  would  have  blenched 
had  the  pinch  but  been  severe  enough.  I  have 
heard  of  common  men — ay,  of  thieves  and  mur 
derers — whose  lips  the  rack  could  not  unlock! 
It  seems  that  our  English  knights  grow  less  re 
solved.  .  .  .  My  lords,  the  sun  is  declining.  If  we 
would  take  the  water  to-day,  we  must  make  no 
farther  tarrying.  Your  hand,  my  Lord  of  Leices 
ter." 

Once  more  her  train  put  itself  into  motion. 
Lords  and  ladies,  lips  that  smiled  and  hearts  all 
busy  with  the  next  link  in  Ambition's  golden 
chain,  on  they  swept  into  the  pleasant  outer  air. 
The  one  man  of  the  motley  throng  of  suitors  to 

216 


g>ir   fH 

whom  Elizabeth  had  spoken  rose  from  his  knee, 
picked  up  his  frieze  coat,  and  turned  a  face  that 
might  have  gone  unrecognized  of  friend  or  foe 
towards  the  door  by  which  he  had  entered  the 
gallery. 


IX 


JLES  ARDEN,  having  ridden 
far  as  required  the  tale  of  miles 
from  the  tavern  of  the  Triple 
Tun,  came,  upon  a  sunshiny 
afternoon  of  early  spring,  to  an 
oak  knoll  where  one  might  halt  to  admire  a  fair 
picture  of  an  old  house  set  in  old  gardens.  Old 
were  the  trees  that  shadowed  it,  and  ivy  dark 
ened  all  its  walls;  without  sound  a  listless 
beauty  breathed  beneath  the  pale  blue  skies ;  for 
all  the  sunshine  and  the  bourgeoning  of  the 
spring,  the  picture  seemed  but  sombrely  rich, 
but  sadly  sweet.  To  the  lips  of  a  light-of -heart 
there  was  that  in  its  quality  had  brought  a  sigh : 
as  for  Arden,  when  he  had  checked  his  horse  he 
looked  upon  the  scene  with  a  groan,  then  pres 
ently  for  very  mirthlessness,  laughed. 

"  That  day,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  grimace 

•"  that  day  when  we  forsook  our  hawking,  and 

dismounting  on  this  knoll,  planned  for  him  his 

218 


new  house!     There  should  be  the  front,  there 
the  tower,  there  the  great  room  where  the  Queen 
should  lie  when  she  made  progress  through  these 
ways!    All  to  be  built  when,  like  a  tiercel-gentle  , 
to  his  wrist,  came  more  fame,  more  gold!" 

The  speaker  turned  in  his  saddle  and  looked 
about  him  with  a  rueful  smile. 

"  I  on  yonder  mossy  stone,  and  Sidney,  chin 
in  hand,  full  length  beneath  that  oak,  and  he 
standing  there,  his  arm  about  the  neck  of  his 
gray !  And  what  says  monsieur  the  traitor  ?  '  I 
like  it  well  as  it  stands,  nor  will  I  tear  down 
what  my  forefathers  built.  Plain  honor  and 
plain  truth  are  the  walls  thereof,  and  encom 
passed  by  them,  the  Queen's  Grace  may  lie  down 
with  pride.'  Brave  words,  traitor!  Gulls,  gulls 
(saith  the  world) ,  friend  Sidney !  For  a  modicum 
of  thy  judgment,  Solomon,  King  of  Jewry,  I 
would  give  (an  he  would  bestow  it  upon  me) 
my  cousin  the  Earl's  great  ruby!" 

He  laughed  again,  then  sighed,  and  gathering 
up  his  reins,  left  the  little  eminence  and  trotted 
on  through  sun  and  shade  to  a  vacant,  ruinous 
lodge  and  a  twilit  avenue,  silent  and  sad  be 
neath  the  heavy  interlacing  of  leafy  boughs. 
219 


Closing  the  vista  rose  a  squat  doorway,  ivy-hung ; 
and  tumbled  upon  the  grass  beside  it,  attacking 
now  a  great  book  and  now  a  russet  pippin,  lay  a 
lad  in  a  blue  jerkin. 

At  the  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs  the  reader 
marked  his  page  with  his  apple,  and  with  a  single 
movement  of  his  lithe  body  was  on  his  feet, 
a-stare  to  see  a  visitor  where  for  many  days  vis 
itors  had  been  none.  Declining  autumn  and 
snowy  winter  and  greening  spring,  he  could  count 
upon  the  ringers  of  one  hand  the  number  of  those 
who  had  come  that  way  where  once  there  had 
been  gay  travelling  beneath  the  locked  elms.  An 
other  moment  and  he  was  at  Arden's  side,  cling 
ing  to  that  gentleman's  jack-boot,  raising  to  his 
hard-favored  but  not  unkindly  countenance  a 
face  aflame  with  relief  and  eagerness.  Presently 
came  the  big  tears  to  his  eyes,  he  swallowed  hard, 
and  ended  by  burying  his  head  in  the  folds  of  the 
visitor's  riding-cloak. 

"Where  is  your  master,  Robin-a-dale?"  Arden 
demanded. 

The  boy,  now* red  and  shamefaced  because  of 
his  wet  lashes,  stood  up,  and  squaring  himself, 
looked  before  him  with  winking  eyes,  nor  would 

220 


answer  until  he  could  speak  without  a  quaver. 
Then:  "He  sits  in  the  north  chamber,  Master 
Arden.  This  side  o'  the  house  the  sun  shines." 
Despite  his  boyish  will  the  tears  again  filled  his 
eyes.  "  'Tis  May-time  now,  and  there's  been 
none  but  him  above  the  salt  since  Lammas- tide. 
Sir  John  came  and  Sir  Philip  came,  but  he  would 
not  let  them  stay.  'Tis  lonesome  now  at  Feme 
House,  and  old  Humphrey  and  I  be  all  that  serve 
him.  Of  nights  a  man  is  a'most  afeard.  .  .  . 
I'll  fasten  your  horse,  sir,  and  mayhap  you'll 
have  other  luck." 

Arden  dismounted,  and  presently  the  two,  boy 
and  adventurer,  passed  into  a  hall  where  the  lat 
ter 's  spur  rang  upon  the  stone  flooring,  and 
thence  into  a  long  room,  cold  and  shadowy,  with 
the  light  stealing  in  through  deep  windows  past 
screens  of  fir  and  yew.  Touched  by  this  wan 
effulgence,  beside  an  oaken  table  on  which  was 
not  wine  nor  dice  nor  books,  a  man  sat  and  looked 
with  strained  eyes  at  the  irrevocable  past. 

"Master,  master!"  cried  Robin-a-dale.  "Here 
be  company  at  last.  Master!" 

Sir  Mortimer  passed  his  hand  across  brow  and 
eyes  as  though  to  brush  away  thick  cobwebs. 

221 


uls  it  you,  Giles  Arden?"  he  asked.  "It  was 
told  me,  or  I  dreamed  it,  that  you  were  in  Ire 
land." 

"  I  was,  may  God  and  St.  George  forgive  me!" 
Arden  answered,  with  determined  lightness. 
"  Little  to  be  got  and  hard  in  the  getting!  Even 
the  Muses  were  not  bountiful,  for  my  men  and  I 
wellnigh  ate  Edmund  Spenser  out  of  Kilcolman. 
He  sends  you  greeting,  Mortimer;  swears  he  is 
no  jealous  poet,  and  begs  you  to  take  up  that  old 
scheme  which  he  forsook  of  King  Arthur  and  his 
Knights—" 

"  He  is  kind,"  said  Feme,  slowly.  "  I  am  well 
fitted  to  write  of  old,  heroic  deeds.  Nor  is  there 
any  doubt  that  the  man-at-arms  who  hath  lost 
his  uses  in  the  struggle  of  this  world  should  take 
delight  in  quiet  exile,  sating  his  soul  with  the 
pomp  of  dead  centuries." 

"  Nor  he  nor  I  meant  offence,"  began  Arden, 
hastily. 

"  I  know  you  did  not,"  the  other  answered.  "  I 
have  grown  churlish  of  late.  Robin!  a  stirrup- 
cup  for  Master  Arden!" 

A  silence  followed,  then  said  Arden:  "And  if  I 
want  it  not,  Mortimer?  And  if,  old  memories 

222 


stirring,  I  have  ridden  from  London  to  Feme 
House  that  I  might  see  how  thou  wert  faring?" 

"Thou  seest,"  said  Feme. 

"  I  see  how  bitterly  thou  art  changed." 

"Ay,  I  am  changed,"  answered  Sir  Mortimer. 
"Your  thought  was  kindly,  and  I  thank  you  for 
it.  Once  these  doors  opened  wide  to  all  who 
knocked,  but  it  is  not  so  now.  Ride  on  to  the 
town  below  the  hill,  and  take  your  rest  in  the  inn ! 
Your  bedfellow  may  be  Iscariot,  but  if  you  know 
him  not,  and  as  yet  he  knows  himself  but  slender 
ly,  you  may  sleep  without  dreaming.  Ride  on!" 

"The  inn  is  full,"  answered  Arden,  bluntly. 
"  This  week  the  Queen  rests  in  her  progress  with 
your  neighbor,  the  Earl,  and  the  town  will  be 
crowded  with  mummers  and  players,  grooms, 
cutpurses,  quacksalvers,  and  cockatrices,  trav 
ellers  and  courtiers  whom  the  north  wind  hath 
nipped!  'Sblood,  Mortimer,  I  had  rather  sleep 
in  this  grave  old  place!" 

"With  Judas  who  knows  himself  at  last?" 
asked  Feme,  coldly,  without  moving  from  his 
place.  The  door  opened,  and  old  Humphrey, 
shuffling  across  the  floor  to  the  table,  placed 
thereon  a  dish  of  cakes  and  a  great  tankard  of 
223 


&tr    iflnrttmrr 

sack,  then  as  he  turned  away  cast  a  backward 
glance  upon  his  master's  face.  Arden  noted  the 
look,  that  there  was  in  it  fear,  overmastering 
ancient  kindness,  and  withal  a  curiosity  as  ig 
noble  as  it  was  keen.  Suddenly,  as  though  the 
fire  of  that  knowledge  had  leaped  to  his  own 
heart  from  that  of  his  host,  he  knew  in  every 
fibre  how  intolerable  was  the  case  of  the  master 
of  the  house,  sitting  alone  in  this  gloomy  cham 
ber,  served  by  this  frightened  boy,  by  that  old 
man  whose  gaze  was  ever  greedy  for  the  quiver 
of  an  eyelid,  the  pressing  together  of  white  lips, 
whose  coarse  and  prying  hand  ever  strayed  tow 
ards  the  unhealed  sore.  He  strode  to  the  table 
and  laid  hands  upon  the  tankard.  "  The  dust  of 
the  road  is  in  my  throat,"  he  explained,  and 
drank  deep  of  the  wine,  then  put  the  tankard 
down  and  turned  to  the  figure  yet  standing  in 
the  cold  light  as  in  an  atmosphere  all  its  own. 

''Mortimer  Feme,"  he  said,  "I  came  here  as 
thy  aforetime  friend.  I  will  not  believe  that  it 
is  my  stirrup-cup  that  I  have  drunk." 

"Ay,  your  stirrup-cup,"  answered  the  other, 
steadily.  "  Nowadays  I  see  no  company — my 
aforetime  friend." 

224 


"That  word  was  ill  chosen,"  began  Arden, 
hastily.  "I  meant  not — " 

"  I  care  not  what  you  meant,"  said  Sir  Morti 
mer,  and  sitting  down  at  the  table,  shaded  his 
eyes  with  his  hand.  "  Of  all  my  needs  the  least 
is  now  a  friend.  Go  your  ways  to  the  town  and 
be  merry  there,  forgetting  this  limbo  and  me, 
who  wander  to  and  fro  in  its  shadows."  Sud 
denly  he  struck  his  hand  with  force  against  the 
table  and  started  to  his  feet,  pushing  from  him 
with  a  grating  sound  the  heavy  oaken  settle. 
"Go!"  he  cried.  "The  players  and  mummers 
are  there.  Go  sit  upon  the  stage,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  play  cry  to  your  neighbors : '  These 
be  no  actors!  Why,  once  I  knew  a  man  who 
could  so  mask  it  that  he  deceived  himself!' 
There  are  quacksalvers  who  will  sell  you  any 
thing.  Go  buy  some  ointment  for  your  eyes  will 
show  you  the  coiled  serpent  at  the  bottom  of  a 
man's  heart!  Travellers! — ask  them  if  Prester 
John  can  see  the  canker  where  the  fruit  seems 
fairest.  Nipped  courtiers!  laugh  with  them  at 
one  against  whom  blow  all  the  winds  of  hell, 
blast  after  blast,  driving  his  soul  before  them! 
Ballad-mongers — ' ' 

225 


He  paused,  laughed,  then  beckoned  to  him 
Robin-a-dale.  " Sirrah,"  he  said,  "Master  Ar- 
den  ever  loved  a  good  song.  Now  sing  him  the 
ballad  we  heard  when  the  devil  drove  us  to  town 
last  Wednesday." 

"I — I  have  forgotten  it,  master,"  answered 
the  boy,  and  cowered  against  the  wall. 

"You  lie!"  cried  Feme,  and  the  table  shook 
again  beneath  his  hand.  "  Did  I  not  exercise 
you  in  it  until  you  were  perfect  ?  Sing!" 

The  boy  opened  his  mouth  and  there  came 
forth  a  heart-broken  sound.  His  master  stamp 
ed  upon  the  floor.  "  Shall  I  not  also  torture 
where  I  can  ?  Sing,  Robin,  my  man !  Fling  back 
your  head  and  sing  like  the  lark  in  the  sky! 
What!  am  I  fallen  so  low  that  my  very  page 
flouts  me,  kicks  obedience  out-of-doors?" 

Robin-a-dale  straightened  himself  and  began 
to  sing,  with  bravado,  a  fierce  red  in  his  cheeks, 
and  his  young  voice  high  and  clear: 

"Now  list  to  me,  ladies,  and  list  to  me,  gentles; 
I've  a  story  for  your  ears  of  a  false,  false  knight, 
Whom   England   held   in   honor,    but   he   treasured 

Spain  so  dearly 
That  he  sold  into  her  hands  his  comrades   in  fight. 

226 


Sur   iHnrt 

"  'Twas  before  a  walled  city  with  the  palm-trees  hang 
ing  over; 
He  was  Captain  of  the  Cygnet,  and  it  sank  before  his 

eyes ; 

The  Englishmen  ashore,  they're  taken  in  the  pitfall, 
Good  lack!  they  toil  in  galleys  or  their  souls  to  God 
arise. 

"  He  sees  them  in  his  sleep,  the  craven  and  the  traitor. 
The  sea  it  keeps  their  bones,  their  bloody  ghosts  they 
pass — " 

"For  God's  sake!"  cried  Arden;  and  the  boy, 
snatching  with  despairing  haste  at  the  interrup 
tion,  ceased  his  singing,  and  in  the  heavy  silence 
that  followed  crept  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  mas 
ter  until  he  touched  a  listless  hand. 

"Ay,  Robin,"  said  Feme,  absently,  and  laid 
the  hand  upon  his  head.  "And  the  bloody 
ghosts  they  pass." 

Arden  spoke  with  emotion:  "All  men  when 
their  final  account  is  made  up  may  have  sights 
to  see  that  now  they  dream  not  of.  Thou  art 
both  too  much  and  too  little  what  thou  wast  of 
old,  and  thou  seest  not  fairly  in  these  shadows. 
I  know  that  Philip  Sidney  and  John  Nevil  have 
come  to  Feme  House,  and  here  am  I,  thy  oldest 
comrade  of  them  all.  A  sheet  of  paper  close 

227 


written  with  record  of  noble  deeds  becomes  not 
worthless  because  of  one  deep  blot." 

Feme,  his  burst  of  passion  past,  arose  and 
moved  from  table  to  window,  from  window  to 
great  chimney-piece.  There  was  that  in  the 
quiet,  almost  stealthy  regularity  of  his  motions 
that  gave  subtle  suggestion  of  days  and  nights 
spent  in  pacing  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro,  this  deep- 
windowed  room. 

/ 

At  last  he  spoke,  pausing  by  the  fireless  hearth : 
"  I  say  not  that  it  is  so,  nor  that  there  is  not  One 
who  may  read  the  writing  beneath  the  blot. 
But  from  the  time  of  Cain  to  the  present  hour  if 
the  blotted  sheet  be  bound  with  the  spotless  the 
book  is  little  esteemed." 

''Cain  slew  his  brother  wilfully,"  said  Arden. 

"That  also  is  told  us,"  answered  the  other. 
"Jealousy  constrained  him,  while  constancy  of 
soul  was  lacking  unto  me.  I  know  not  if  it  was 
but  taken  from  me  for  a  time,  or  if,  despite  all 
seeming,  I  never  did  possess  it.  I  know  that  the 
dead  are  dead,  and  I  know  not  to  what  ambus 
cade  I,  their  leader,  sent  them.  ...  I  fell,  not  wil 
fully,  but  through  lack  of  will.  Now,  an  the 
Godhead  within  me  be  not  flown,  I  will  recover 


&ir    fHnrttmrr 

myself, — but  never  what  is  past  and  gone,  never 
the  dead  flowers,  never  the  souls  I  set  loose,  never 
one  hour's  eternal  scar ! .  .  .  Enough  of  this.  Ride 
on  to  the  inn,  for  Feme  House  keepeth  guests 
no  longer.  To  -  morrow,  an  you  choose,  come 
again,  and  we  will  say  farewell.  Why,  old 
school-fellow!  thou  seest  I  am  sane — no  hermit 
or  madman,  as  the  clowns  of  this  region  would 
have  me.  But  will  you  go? — will  you  go?" 

"  It  seems  that  you  yourself  journey  to  the 
town  upon  occasion,"  said  Arden.  "Ride  with 
me  now,  Mortimer.  No  country  lass  more  sweet 
than  the  air  to-day!" 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "  Business  has 
taken  me  there.  But  now  that  I  have  sold  this 
house  I  at  present  go  no  more." 

"Sold  this  house!"  echoed  Arden,  and  with  a 
more  and  more  perturbed  countenance  began  to 
pace  the  floor.  "  I  did  never  think  to  hear  of 
Feme  House  fallen  to  strange  hands!  Your 
father — '  He  paused  before  a  picture  set  in  the 
panelled  wall.  "  Your  father  loved  it  well." 

"My  father  was  of  pure  gold,"  said  Sir  Morti 
mer,  "but  I,  his  son,  am  of  iron,  or  what  baser 
metal  there  may  be.  Now  I  go  forth  to  my  kind . ' ' 

229 


§tr    ilorltmrr 

"Oh!  in  God's  name,  leave  Plato  alone!"  cried 
the  other.  "  'Tis  not  by  that  pagan's  advice 
that  you  divest  yourself  of  house  and  land!" 

"I  wanted  money,"  said  Feme,  dully. 

The  man  whom  ancient  friendship  had  brought 
that  way  stopped  short  in  his  pacing  to  gaze 
upon  the  figure  standing  in  the  light  of  the  high 
window.  For  what  could  such  an  one  want 
money?  Courtier,  no  more  forever;  patron  of 
letters,  friend  of  wise  men,  no  more  forever;  sol 
dier  and  sea-king,  comrade  and  leader  of  brave 
men  never,  never  again, — what  wanted  he  so 
much,  what  other  was  his  imperative  need  than 
this  old,  quiet  house  sunk  in  the  shadows  of  its 
age-old  trees,  grave  with  a  certain  solemnity, 
touched  upon  with  tragedy,  attuned  to  a  sorrow 
ful  patience?  For  a  moment  the  room  and  the 
man  who  made  its  core  were  blurred  to  Arden's 
vision.  He  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
there,  twirling  his  mustachios,  finally  humming 
to  himself  the  lines  of  a  song. 

"That  is  Sidney's,"  said  Feme,  quietly.  "I 
hear  that  he  does  the  Queen  noble  service.  .  .  . 
Well,  even  in  the  old  times  he  was  ever  a  length 
before  me!" 

230 


g>tr 


"Why  do  you  need  money?"  demanded  the 
visitor.  "  What  more  retired  —  what  better  house 
than  this?" 

The  man  who  leaned  against  the  chimney-piece 
turned  to  gaze  at  his  visitor  with  that  which  had 
not  before  showed  in  mien  or  words.  It  was 
wonder,  slight  and  mournful,  yet  wonder.  "Of 
course  you  also  would  think  that,"  he  said  at  last. 
"Even  Robin  thinks  that  the  stained  blade 
should  rust  in  its  scabbard,  —  that  here  I  should 
await  my  time,  training  the  rose-bushes  in  my 
garden,  listening  to  the  sere  leaves  fall,  singing 
of  other  men's  harvests." 

The  boy  cried  out:  "  I  don't,  I  don't!  You've 
promised  to  take  me  with  you!"  and  flung  him 
self  down  upon  the  pavement,  with  his  head  be 
side  his  master's  knee. 

"I  have  bought  me  a  ship,"  said  Feme,  "to 
gether  with  a  crew  of  beggared  mariners  and  cast 
soldiers.  I  think  they  be  all  villains  and  desper 
ate  folk,  or  they  would  not  sail  with  me.  Some 
that  seemed  honest  have  fallen  away  since  they 
knew  the  name  of  their  Captain.  .  .  .  We  must 
begone,  Robin!  If  we  would  not  sail  the  ship 
ourselves  we  must  begone  —  we  must  begone." 

231 


16 


g>tr    Mortimer 

"Begone  where?"  demanded  Arden,  and 
wheeled  from  the  window. 

''To  fight  the  Spaniard,"  said  Feme.  "The 
Queen  hath  been  my  very  good  mistress.  John 
Nevil  and  Sidney  have  procured  me  leave  to  go— 
if  it  so  be  that  I  go  quietly.  I  think  that  I  will 
not  return  —  and  England  will  forget  me,  but 
Spain  may  remember.  .  .  .  For  the  rest,  I  go  to 
search  for  Robert  Baldry;  to  seek  if  not  to  find 
my  enemy,  the  foe  that  I  held  in  contempt, 
whom  in  my  heart  I  despised  because  he  was  not 
poet  and  courtier,  as  I  was,  nor  knight  and  gen 
tleman,  as  I  was,  nor  very  wise,  as  I  was,  and  be 
cause  all  his  vision  was  clouded  and  gross,  while 
I — I  might  see  the  very  flower  o'  the  sun.  .  .  . 
Well,  he  was  a  brave  man." 

"He  is  dead,"  whispered  Arden.  "Surely  he 
is  dead." 

"  Maybe,"  answered  the  other.  "  But  I  nor  no 
man  else  saw  him  die.  And  we  know  that  these 
Spanish  tombs  do  sometimes  open  and  give  up 
the  dead.  I'll  throw  for  size-ace." 

"If  he  lived  they  would  have  sent  him  to 
Cartagena,  —  to  the  Holy  Office!"  cried  the 
other.  "One  ship  —  a  scoundrel  crew.  .  .  . 

232 


Mortimer,  Mortimer,  some  other  ordeal  than 
that!" 

Feme  raised  his  eyes.  "  I  call  it  by  no  such 
fine  name,"  he  said.  "  I  but  know  that  if  he  yet 
lives,  then  he  and  what  other  Englishmen  are  left 
alive  do  cry  out  for  deliverance,  looking  towards 
the  sea,  thinking,  '  Where  is  now  a  friend?'  "  He 
left  the  table  and  came  near  to  Arden.  'Twas 
a  kindly  impulse  sent  you  here,  old  comrade  of 
mine;  but  now  will  you  go?  The  dead  and  I 
hold  Feme  House  of  nights.  To-morrow  come 
again  and  say  good-by." 

"  I  will  sail  with  you  to  the  Indies,  Mortimer," 
said  the  visitor. 

There  was  silence  in  the  room ;  then,  "  No,  no," 
answered  Feme,  in  a  strange  voice.  "No,  no." 

Arden  persisted,  speaking  rapidly,  carrying  it 
off  with  sufficient  lightness.  "  He  was  just  home 
from  Ireland  and  stood  in  need  of  the  sun.  His 
cousin  wanted  him  not;  John  Nevil  was  in  the 
north  and  had  helpers  enough.  The  slaying  of 
Spaniards  was  at  once  good  service  and  good 
sport.  Best  take  him  along  for  old  time's  sake. 
Indeed,  he  asked  no  better  than  to  go — '  On 
on  he  talked,  until,  looking  up,  his  speech 
233 


was  cut  short  by  the  aspect  of  the  man  before 
him. 

If  in  every  generation  the  house  of  Feme, 
father  and  son,  could  wear  a  dark  face  when  oc 
casion  warranted,  certainly  in  this  moment  that 
of  the  latest  of  his  race  was  dark  indeed.  "And 
at  the  first  pinch  be  betrayed.  Awake,  or  here, 
or  there,  in  the  torments  of  Spain  or  in  another 
world!  Awake  and  curse  me  by  all  your  gods! 
Speak  not  to  me — I  am  not  hungry  for  a  friend ! 
I  have  no  faith  to  pledge  against  your  trust! 
The  rabble  which  await  me  upon  my  ship,  I  have 
bought  them  with  my  gold,  and  they  know  me, 
who  I  am.  For  Robin — God  help  the  boy !  He 
had  a  fever,  and  he  would  not  cease  his  cries  until 
I  sware  not  to  part  from  him.  Robin,  Robin! 
Master  Arden  will  take  horse!  Go,  Arden,  go! 
or  as  God  lives  I  will  strike  you  where  you  stand. 
No, — no  hand-touching!  Can  you  not  see  that 
you  heat  the  iron  past  all  bearing?  A  moment 
since  and  I  could  have  sworn  I  saw  behind  you 
Henry  Sedley!  Go,  go!" 

He  sank  upon  the  settle  beneath  the  window, 
and  buried  his  head  in  his  arms.  For  a  long  min 
ute  Arden  stood  with  a  drawn  face,  then  turning, 
•  234 


left  the  house  and  left  the  place,  for  the  knowl 
edge  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  here  and  now 
friendship  could  give  no  aid.  When,  half  an 
hour  later,  he  arrived  at  the  Blue  Swan  in  the 
neighboring  town  and  called  for  aqua-vita,  mine 
host,  jolly  and  round  and  given  over  to  facetious- 
ness,  swore  that  to  -look  so  white  and  bewitched- 
like  the  gentleman  must  have  gathered  man 
drakes  from  Feme  church-yard,  or  have  dined 
with  the  traitor  knight  himself. 

That  same  afternoon,  when  the  rays  of  the  sun 
were  lower,  Feme  went  into  his  garden  and  lifted 
his  bared  brow,  that  perchance  the  air  might  cool 
it.  It  was  the  quiet  hour  when  the  goal  of  the 
sun  is  in  view,  and  the  shadows  of  the  fruit  trees 
lay  long  upon  the  grass.  There  were  breaches  in 
the  garden  walls  where  they  had  crumbled  into 
ruin,  and  through  these  openings,  beyond  dark 
masses  of  all-covering  ivy,  sight  might  be  had  of 
old  trees  set  in  alleys,  of  primrose-yellowed 
downs,  and  of  a  distant  cliff -head  where  sheep 
grazed,  while  far  below  gleamed  a  sapphire  line 
of  sea.  Tender  quiet,  fair  stillness,  marked  the 
spot.  Day  mused  as  she  was  going:  Evening, 

235' 


drawing  near,  held  her  finger  to  her  lips.  A  tall 
flower,  keeping  fairy  guard  beside  three  ruinous 
steps,  moved  not  her  slightest  bell,  but  there 
came  one  note  of  a  hidden  thrush. 

Full  in  the  midst  of  a  grass-plot  was  set  a  semi 
circular  bench  of  stone.  To  this  Feme  moved, 
threw  himself  down,  and  with  a  moaning  sigh 
closed  his  eyes.  There  had  been  long  days  and 
sleepless  nights;  there  had  been,  once  his  brain 
had  ceased  to  whirl,  the  growth  of  a  purpose 
slowly  formed,  then  held  like  iron ;  there  had  been 
the  humble  pleading  for  freedom,  the  long  delay, 
the  hope  deferred;  then,  his  petition  granted,  the 
going  forth  to  mart  and  highway,  the  bargaining, 
amidst  curious  traffickers,  for  that  rotting  ship, 
for  those  lives,  as  worthless  as  his  own,  which  yet 
must  have  their  price.  This  going  forth  was  very 
bad ;  like  hot  lead  within  the  gaping  wound,  like 
searing  sunshine  upon  the  naked  eye.  And  now, 
to-day,  not  an  hour  since,  Arden!  to  mock,  to 
goad,  to  torture — 

Slowly,  slowly,  the  sun  went  down  the  west, 
and  the  peace  of  the  garden  deepened.  Very 
stealthily  the  quiet  stole  upon  him ;  softly,  silent 
ly,  with  spirit  touch,  it  brought  him  healing  sim- 

236 


pies.  Utterly  weary  as  he  was,  the  balm  of  the 
hour  at  last  flowed  over  him,  faintly  soothing, 
faintly  caressing.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and 
breathing  deeply,  looked  about  him  with  a  saner 
vision  than  he  had  used  of  late. 

The  lily  by  the  broken  stair  slept  on,  but  the 
thrush  sang  once  again.  The  bell-like  note  died 
into  the  charmed  stillness,  and  all  things  were  as 
they  had  been.  Thirty  paces  away,  stark  against 
the  evening  sky,  rose  the  western  wall  of  Feme 
House,  and  it  was  shaggy  with  ivy  that  was  root 
ed  like  a  tree,  wide-branched,  populous  with 
birds'  nests,  and  high,  high  against  the  blue  a 
thing  of  tenderest  sprays  and  palest  leaves.  The 
long  ridge  of  them  kept  the  late  sunshine,  and  so 
far  was  it  lifted  above  the  earth,  so  still  in  that 
dreamy  hour,  so  touched  with  pale  gold,  so  dis 
tant  and  so  delicate  against  high  heaven,  that  it 
caught  and  held  eye  and  soul  of  the  man  for 
whom  Fate  had  borrowed  Ixion's  wheel.  He 
gazed  until  the  poet  in  him  sighed  with  pure 
pleasure ;  then  came  forgetfulness ;  then,  present 
ly,  he  looked  into  his  heart  and  began  to  make  a 
little  song,  amorous,  quaint,  and  honey-sweet, 
just  such  a  song  as  in  that  full  dawn  of  poesy 
237 


g>\r   iI 

Englishmen  struck  from  the  lyre  and  thought 
naught  of  it.  His  lips  did  not  move;  had  he 
spoken,  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  the  charm 
had  cracked,  the  little  lyric  had  shrunk  away  be 
fore  tragedy  that  was  yet  as  fierce  as  it  was  pro 
found,  that  had  as  yet  few  other  notes  than  those 
of  primal  pain. 

With  the  final  cadence,  the  last  sugared  word, 
the  ivy  sprays  somewhat  darkened  against  the 
eastern  sky.  His  fancy  being  yet  aloft,  he  turn 
ed  that  he  might  behold  the  light  upon  the  downs, 
and  then  he  saw  Damaris  Sedley  where  she  stood 
upon  the  lowest  of  the  ruined  steps,  stiller  than 
the  flower  beside  her,  and  with  something  rich 
and  strange  in  her  bearing  and  her  dress.  Cloth 
of  silver  sheathed  her  body,  while  the  flowing 
sleeves  that  half  revealed,  half  hid  her  white  and 
rounded  arms  were  of  silver  tissue  over  watchet 
blue,  and  of  watchet  was  the  mantle  which  she 
had  let  fall  upon  the  step  beside  her.  A  net  of 
wire  of  gold  crossing  her  hair  that  was  but  half 
confined,  held  high  above  her  forehead  a  golden 
star.  In  one  hand  she  bore  a  silvered  spear  well 
tipped  with  gold,  the  other  she  pressed  above 
her  heart.  Her  face  was  pale  and  grave,  her 

238 


scarlet  lip  between  her  teeth,  her  dark  eyes  in 
tent  upon  the  man  before  her. 

Feme  sprang  to  his  feet  and  started  forward, 
very  white,  his  arm  outstretched  and  trembling, 
crying  to  her  if  she  were  spirit  merely.  She 
shook  her  head,  regarding  him  gravely,  her  hand 
yet  upon  her  heart.  "  I  attend  the  Queen  upon 
her  progress,"  she  said.  "  This  day  at  the  Earl's 
there  is  a  great  masque  of  Dian  and  her  huntress 
es,  satyrs,  fauns,  all  manner  of  sylvan  folk.  At 
last  I  might  steal  aside  unmissed.  ...  By  the 
favor  of  a  friend  I  rode  here  through  the  quiet 
lanes,  for  I  wished  to  see  you  face  to  face,  to 
speak  to  you — to  you  who  gave  me  no  answer 
when  I  wrote,  and  wrote  again !  .  .  .  I  am  weary 
with  the  joys  of  this  day.  May  I  rest  upon 
yonder  seat?" 

He  moved  backward  before  her,  slowly,  across 
the  grass-plot  to  the  bench  of  stone,  and  she  fol 
lowed  him.  Their  gaze  met  the  while.  There 
was  no  wonder  in  his  look,  no  consciousness  of 
self  in  hers.  In  the  spaces  beyond  life  their  souls 
might  meet  thus ;  each  drawing  by  the  veil,  each 
recognizing  the  other  for  what  it  was.  They 
took  their  seat  upon  the  wide  stone  bench,  with 

239 


the  primroses  at  their  feet,  and  above  them  the 
empurpling  arch  of  the  sky.  Throughout  the 
past  months,  when  he  dreamed  of  her,  when  he 
thought  of  her,  he  bowed  himself  before  her,  he 
raised  not  his  eyes  to  hers.  But  now  their  looks 
met,  and  his  countenance  of  a  haggard  arid  rav 
aged  beauty  did  not  change  before  her  still  re 
gard.  The  floating  silver  gauze  of  her  open 
sleeve  lying  upon  the  stone  between  them  he 
lightly,  with  no  pressure  that  she  might  notice, 
let  rest  his  hand  upon  it.  In  the  act  of  doing 
this  he  wondered  at  himself,  but  then  he  thought, 
"  I  am  on  my  way  to  death.  .  .  ." 

She  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Seven  months  have  gone  since  that  day  at 
Whitehall." 

"Ay,"  he  answered,  "seven  months." 

She  went  on:  "I  have  learned  not  to  reckon 
life  that  way.  Since  that  day  at  Whitehall  life 
has  lasted  a  very  long  time." 

Again  he  echoed — "  A  very  long  time."  Then, 
after  a  pause :  "  I  have  made  for  you  a  long,  long 
life.  If  to  have  done  so  is  to  your  irreparable 
loss,  then  this,  also,  is  to  be  forgiven.  .  .  .  Long 
life !  now  in  the  watches  of  one  night  I  live  to  be 

240 


an  old  man !  For  you  may  f orgetfulness  come  at 
last!" 

She  turned  slightly,  looking  at  him  from  be 
neath  the  gold  star.  "Wish  me  no  such  happy 
wishes!  Let  me  not  think  that  such  wishes 
dwell  in  your  heart.  Since  that  day  at  White 
hall  I  have  written  to  you — written  twice.  Why 
did  you  never  answer?" 

He  looked  down  upon  his  clasped  hands. 
"  What  was  there  to  be  said  ?  I  thought,  '  I  have 
sorely  wounded  her  whom  I  love,  and  with  my 
own  words  I  have  seared  that  wound  as  with 
white  heat  of  iron.  Now  God  keep  me  man 
enough  to  say  no  farther  word !' ' 

"  I  was  benumbed  that  day,"  she  said ;  "  I  was 
frozen.  My  brother's  face  came  between  us.  ... 
Oh,  my  brother!  .  .  .  Since  that  day  I  have  seen 
Sir  John  Nevil— " 

"Then  a  just  man  told  you  my  story  justly," 
he  began,  but  she  interrupted  him,  her  breath 
coming  faster. 

"  I  have  also  made  other  inquiry ;  on  my  knees, 
on  my  face,  in  the  dead  of  the  night  when  I  knew 
that  thou,  too,  waked,  I  have  asked  of  God,  and 
of  our  Lord  the  Christ  who  suffered.  ...  I  know 

241 


IHr   ilnriimer 

not  if  they  heard  me,  there  be  so  many  that 
clamor  in  their  ears.  ..."  With  a  quick  move 
ment  she  arose  from  the  stone  seat  and  began  to 
pace  the  grass-plot,  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her  head,  the  gold  star  yet  bright  in  the  late, 
late  sunshine.  "  I  would  they  had  answered  me 
distinctly.  Perhaps  they  did.  .  .  .  But  be  that 
as  it  may  be  I  will  follow  my  own  heart,  I  will  go 
my  own  way — ' 

He  arose  and  began  to  walk  with  her.  "And 
thy  heart  led  thee  this  way?"  he  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

She  flashed  upon  him  a  look  so  bright  that  it 
was  as  if  high  noon  had  returned  to  the  garden. 
"  Pluck  me  yonder  lily,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the  first 
I  have  smelled  this  year." 

He  brought  it  to  her,  trembling.  "  Presently 
it  will  close,"  he  said,  "never  to  open  again." 

"  That  also  is  among  the  things  we  know  not," 
she  answered.  "Think  you  not  there  is  one 
who  revives  the  souls  of  men?" 

"Ay,  I  believe  it,"  he  answered.  They  paced 
again  the  green  to  its  flowery  margin. 

"  Give  me  yon  spray  of  love-lies-bleeding,"  she 
said ;  then  as  it  rested  against  the  lily  in  her  hand, 

242 


''Wounds  may  be  cured,"  she  said.  "I  have 
heard  talk  here,  there,  at  the  court  even,  else,  be- 
shrew  me,  if  I  had  come  this  way  to-day!  I 
know  that  thou  goest  forth—  Her  voice  broke 
and  the  gold  star  shook  with  the  trembling  of  her 
frame.  "  I  know  that  thou  mayst  never,  never, 
never  return.  I  will  pray  for  thy  soul's  welfare. 
.  .  .  See!  there  is  a  heartsease  at  my  feet." 

He  knelt,  but  touched  not  the  floweret,  instead 
caught  at  the  long  folds  of  her  silver  gown  and 
held  her  where  she  stood.  "For  my  soul's  wel 
fare,  thou  balm  from  heaven!"  he  cried.  "For 
only  my  soul's  welfare?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered.  "  For  the  welfare  of 
all  of  thee,  soul  and  body  —  soul  and  body!" 
She  bent  over  him,  and  there  fell  from  her  eyes 
a  bright  rain  of  tears,  quickly  come,  quickly 
checked.  "Ah,  a  contrary  world  of  queens  and 
guardians!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  my  God!  if  thou 
mightst  only  make  me  thy  wife  before  thou 
goest!" 

He  arose  and  drew  her  into  his  arms.  "The 
story  is  true,"  he  whispered,  to  which  she  an 
swered  : 

"  I  care  not !  Sayest  thou, '  A  thing  was  done.' 
243 


Say  I,  '  Thou  didst  it!'  and  high  above  the  deed  I 
love  thee!" 

Suddenly  she  fell  into  a  storm  of  weeping,  then 
broke  from  him,  and  somewhat  blindly  sought 
the  garden  seat,  sank  down  upon  it,  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  arms.  He  kneeled  beside  her, 
and  presently  she  was  crouching  against  his 
breast,  that  rose  and  fell  with  his  answering  emo 
tion.  She  put  up  her  hand  and  touched  the  deep 
lines  of  past  suffering  in  the  face  above  her. 

"I  know  that  thou  must  go,"  she  said.  "I 
would  not  have  thee  stay.  But,  Mortimer,  if  it 
were  possible  ...  He  forgave  you  long,  long  ago, 
for  he  loved  you  above  all  men.  I,  his  sister, 
answer  for  him.  Ah,  God  wot !  brother  and  sister 
we  have  loved  you  well.  ...  If  I  could  keep  tryst, 
after  all,  if  thou  could st  make  me  thy  wife  before 
thou  goest — or  if  kindred  and  the  Queen  be  too 
powerful,  I  could  escape,  could  follow  thee  as  thy 
page,  trusting  thy  honor  .  .  .  Ah,  look  not  so  upon 
me !  Ah,  to  be  a  woman  and  do  one's  own  woo 
ing  !  Ah,  think  what  thou  wilt  of  me,  only  know 
that  I  love  thee  to  the  uttermost!" 

Feme  left  her  side,  and  moving  to  the  garden 
wall,  looked  out  over  the  far-away  downs  to  the 

244 


'AH,  LOOK  NOT  so  UPON  ME!'" 


far-away  sea — the  sea  that,  for  weary  months 
had  called  and  thundered  in  his  ears.  Now  he 
saw  it  all  halcyon,  stretching  fair  and  mute  to 
the  boundless  west,  the  sinking  sun,  the  lovers' 
star.  They  two  —  could  they  two,  lying  with 
closed  eyes,  but  drift  out  over  bar,  floating  away 
through  golds  and  purples  towards  the  kiss  of 
heaven  and  sea — flotsam  of  this  earth,  jetsam  of 
age-distant  shores,  each  to  the  other  paradise  and 
all  in  all !  How  profound  the  stillness — how  deep 
the  fragrance  of  the  lily — what  indifference,  what 
quiet  as  of  scorn  did  the  Maker  of  man,  having 
placed  his  creature  in  the  lists,  turn  aside  to  other 
spectacles !  .  .  .  Should  man  be  more  careful  than 
his  God?  Right!  Wrong! — to  die  at  last  and 
find  them  indeed  words  of  a  length  and  the  prize 
of  sore  striving  a  fool's  bauble : — to  die  and  miss 
the  rose  and  wine  cup ! — to  die  and  find  not  the 
struggle  and  the  star ! — to  loose  the  glorious  bird 
in  the  hand  and  beyond  the  portals  to  feel  no 
fanning  of  a  vaster  wing!  What  use  —  what 
use — to  be  at  once  the  fleeing  Adam  and  the  dark 
archangel  at  Eden's  gates? 

He  turned  to  behold  the  woman  whom  now, 
with  no  trace  of  the  fancifulness,  the  idealism  of 
17  245 


his  time,  he  loved  with  all  depth,  passion,  actu 
ality  ;  he  set  wrist  to  teeth  and  bit  the  flesh  until 
blood  started ;  he  moved  towards  her  where  she 
sat  with  her  hands  clasped  above  her  knee,  her 
head  thrown  back,  watching  his  coming  with 
those  deep  eyes  of  hers.  He  reached  her  side; 
she  rose  to  meet  him,  and  the  two  stood  em 
braced  in  the  flattering  sunshine,  the  odor  of  the 
lilies,  the  pale  glory  of  the  failing  day. 

"My  dear  love,  it  is  not  possible,"  he  said. 
"Flower  of  women!  didst  dream  that  I  would 
leave  thee  here  blasted  by  my  name,  or  that  I 
would  carry  thee  where  I  must  go?  Star  of  my 
earth,  to-day  we  say  a  clean  farewell!" 

"Then  God  be  with  thee,"  she  said,  brokenly. 

"And  with  thee!"  he  answered.  Hand  in 
hand  they  moved  to  the  broken  wall,  and  leaning 
upon  it,  looked  out  to  that  far  line  of  sea.  Her 
under-sleeve  of  silver  gauze  fell  away  from  her 
arm. 

' '  How  white  is  thy  arm !"  he  breathed.  ' *  How 
branched  with  tender  blue!" 

"  Wilt  kiss  it?"  she  answered,  "  so  I  shall  grow 
to  love  myself." 

"  Thou  art  the  fairest  thing  the  sun  shines  on," 
246 


he  said.     "  Thy  lips  are  like  flowers  I  have  never 
seen  in  the  West." 

''Gather  the  flowers,"  she  said,  and  raised 
her  face  to  his.  "The  garden  is  kept  for 
thee." 

The  sun  began  to  decline,  the  earth  to  darken, 
swallows  circled  past.  "  It  grows  late,"  she  said, 
"late,  late!  When  goest  thou?" 

"Within  the  week." 

"  By  then  her  Grace  will  have  whirled  me 
leagues  away.  ...  I  would  I  were  a  queen.  If 
thou  goest  to  death — oh  God !  we'll  not  speak  of 
that! —  Give  me  that  chain  of  thine." 

He  unclasped  it,  laid  it  in  her  hands.  Raising 
her  arms,  she  drew  it  over  her  neck. 

"  Seest  thou  thy  prisoner?"  she  asked.  "  For 
ever  thy  prisoner!"  From  its  fellow  of  watchet 
blue  she  detached  her  floating  silver  sleeve.  "It 
is  my  favor,"  she  whispered.  "Wear  it  wrhen 
thou  wilt." 

He  folded  the  gauze  and  thrust  it  within  his 
doublet.  "  When  I  may,  my  lady,"  he  said,  with 
his  eyes  upon  the  sunset  that  held  the  colors  of 
the  dawning.  "When  I  may." 

A  sickle  moon  swung  in  the  gold  harvest-fields 
247 


of  the  west,  then  a  great  star  came  out  to  watch 
that  reaping.  The  thrush  was  silent  now,  but 
from  a  covert  rushed  suddenly  the  full  tide  of  a 
nightingale's  song.  With  a  cry  the  maid  of  hon 
or  put  hands  to  her  ears.  "Ay  me,  my  heart  it 
will  break !  Tell  me  that  thou  goest  but  to  come 
again!" 

He  took  her  hands,  pressing  them  to  his  heart, 
to  his  lips.  "  No,  no,  my  dearest  dear,  since  God 
no  longer  worketh  miracles!  I  go  more  surely 
than  ever  went  John  Oxenham ;  I  would  not  have 
thee  cheat  thyself,  spend  thy  days  in  watching, 
listening.  I  kiss  thee  a  lifetime  good-by.  .  .  . 
Oh  child,  seest  thou  how  broken  I  am?  I  that 
myself  loosed  all  the  winds — I  that  kneel,  a  peni 
tent,  before  the  just  and  the  unjust,  before  my 
lover  and  my  foe!  But  when  all's  said,  all's 
done,  all's  quiet: — the  arrow  sped,  the  stone 
fallen,  the  curfew  rung,  the  dust  returned  to  dust ! 
then  shall  stand  my  soul.  ...  A  ruined  man,  a 
man  in  just  disgrace,  who  hath  played  the  cow 
ard,  who  hath  sinned  against  thee  and  against 
others,  that  am  I — yet  our  souls  endure,  and 
thou  art  my  mate ;  queenly  as  thou  standest  here, 
thou  art  my  mate!  I  love  thee,  and  in  life,  in 

248 


£ir    Mortimer 

death,  I  claim  thee  still:  Forget  me  not  when  I 
am  gone!" 

"When  thou  art  gone!"  she  cried.  "When 
thou  art  gone  with  all  my  mind  I'll  hold  myself 
thy  bride!  In  those  strange  countries  beneath 
the  sun  if  bitterness  comes  over  thee" — she  put 
her  hand  to  her  heart — "think  of  thy  fireside 
here.  Think,  '  Even  in  this  wavering  life  I  have 
an  abiding  home,  a  heart  that's  true,  true,  true 
to  me!'  When  thou  diest — if  thou  diest  first- 
linger  for  me;  where  a  thousand  years  are  as  a 
day  travel  not  so  far  that  I  may  not  overtake 
thee.  Mortimer,  Mortimer,  Mortimer!  I'll  not 
believe  in  a  God  who  at  the  last  says  not  to  me, 
*  That  path  he  took.'  When  He  says  it,  listen  for 
my  flying  feet.  Oh,  my  dear,  listen  for  my  fly 
ing  feet!" 

"Star  and  rose!"  he  said.  "If  we  dream,  we 
dream.  Better  so,  even  though  we  pass  to  sleep 
too  deep  for  dreaming.  For  we  plan  a  temple 
though  we  build  it  not.  .  .  .  That  falconer's  whis 
tle!  is  it  thy  signal?  Then  thou  must  make  no 
tarrying  here.  I  will  put  thy  cloak  about  thee." 

He  brought  from  the  ruinous  steps  her  watchet 
mantle,  and  she  let  him  clasp  it  about  her  throat. 

249 


In  the  raised  air  of  that  isolate  peak  where  true 
lovers  take  farewell  there  are  few  words  used  at 
the  last.  Sighs,  kisses,  broken  utterance, — 
M  Forever,"  ..."  Forever,"  ..."  I  love  thee,"  .  .  . 
"I  love  thee";  the  eternal  "I  will  come";  the 
eternal  "  I  will  wait"  !  Possessors  of  an  instant 
of  time,  of  an  atom  of  space,  they  sent  their 
linked  hopes,  their  mailed  certainties  forth  to 
the  unseen,  un trenched  fields  of  the  future,  and 
held  their  love  coeval  with  existence.  Then, 
slowly,  she  withdrew  herself  from  his  clasp,  and 
as  slowly  moved  backward  to  the  broken  stair. 
He  waited  by  the  stone  seat,  for  she  must  go 
secretly  and  in  silence,  and  he  might  not,  as  in 
old  times,  lead  her  with  stateliness  through  the 
ways  of  Feme  House.  Upon  the  uppermost 
step  she  paused  a  moment,  and  he,  lifting  his 
eyes,  saw  above  him  her  mantled  figure,  her  out 
stretched  arms  with  the  lily  of  her  body  in  be 
tween,  the  gold  star  swimming  above  her  fore 
head.  One  breathless  moment  thus,  then  she 
turned,  and  folding  her  mantle  about  her,  passed 
from  her  lover's  sight  towards  the  darkening 
orchard. 

He  stayed  an  hour  in  the  garden,  then  went 
250 


back  to  his  great,  old,  dimly  lighted  hall.  Here, 
half  the  night,  chin  in  one  hand,  the  other  hang 
ing  below  his  booted  knee,  he  brooded  over  the 
now  glowing,  now  ashen  chimney  logs ;  yet  Robin- 
a-dale,  who  believed  in  Master  Arden,  and  very 
mightily  in  visions  as  beautiful  as  that  which  had 
been  vouchsafed  to  him  going  through  the  or 
chard  that  eventide,  felt  as  light  a  heart  as  if  no 
shadowy  ship  awaited  in  the  little  port  down  by 
the  little  town,  whose  people  either  cursed  or 
looked  askance.  Waking  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  he  thought  he  saw  a  knight  at  prayer — 
one  of  the  old  stone  Templars  from  Feme  church, 
where  they  lay  with  palm  to  palm,  awaiting  with 
frozen  patience  the  last  trumpet-call  that  ever 
they  should  hear.  This  knight,  however,  was 
kneeling  with  bowed  head  and  hidden  face,  a 
thing  against  all  rule  with  those  other  stark  and 
sternly  waiting  forms.  So  Robin,  being  too 
drowsy  to  reason,  let  the  matter  alone  and  went 
to  sleep  again. 


HE  Sea  Wraith,  an  ancient  ship, 
gray  and  patched  of  sail,  bat 
tered  and  worn  with  a  name  for 
all  disaster,  sailed  the  Spanish 
seas  as  though  she  bore  a  charm 
ed  life — and  her  crew  that  was  the  refuse  of  land 
and  sea,  used  to  license,  to  whom  mutiny  was  no 
uglier  a  word  than  another,  kept  the  terms  of  an 
iron  discipline — and  her  Captain  waked  and  slept 
as  one  aware  of  when  to  wake  and  when  to 
sleep. 

There  was  fever  between  the  decks ;  there  was 
fever  in  black  hearts ;  of  dark  nights  a  corposant 
burned  now  at  this  masthead,  now  at  that. 
Mariner  and  soldier  knew  the  story  of  the  shad 
owy  figure  keeping  company  with  the  stars  there 
above  them  on  the  poop-royal.  Did  he  keep 
company  only  with  the  stars  and  with  the  boy, 
his  familiar?  The  sick,  tossing  from  side  to  side, 
raved  out  curses,  and  the  well  saw  many  omens. 

252 


Dissatisfaction,  never  far  from  their  unstayed 
minds,  crept  at  times  very  near,  and  superstition 
sat  always  amongst  them.  But  they  reckoned 
with  a  Captain  stronger  for  this  voyage  than  had 
been  Francis  Drake  or  John  Hawkins,  and  stran 
ger  than  any  under  whom  they  had  ever  sailed. 
He  was  so  still  a  man  that  they  knew  not  how  to 
take  him,  but  beneath  his  eyes  vain  imaginings 
and  half -formed  conspiracies  withered  like  burnt 
paper.'  He  called  upon  neither  God  nor  devil, 
but  his  voice  blew  like  an  icy  wind  upon  the  heat 
of  disloyal  intents,  and  like  the  wrhite  fire  that 
touched  now  stem,  now  stern,  so  his  will  held  the 
ship,  driving  it  like  a  leaf  towards  the  mainland 
and  the  fortress  of  Nueva  Cordoba. 

The  ship  that  seemed  so  aged  and  disgraced 
yet  had  a  strength  of  sinew  which  made  her  for 
midable.  All  things  had  been  patiently  cared 
for  by  the  man  who,  selling  his  patrimony,  had 
labored  against  wind  and  tide  to  the  end  that  he 
might  carry  forth  with  him  such  an  armament 
as  scarce  had  been  the  Cygnet's  own.  Tier  on 
tier  rose  the  Sea  Wraith's  ordnance;  she  carried 
warlike  stores  of  all  sorts  that  might  serve  for 
battle  by  sea  or  land.  If  his  money  could  not 

253 


buy  such  men  as  stood  ready  to  ship  with  Drake 
and  Hawkins,  yet  in  his  wild,  sin-stained  crew 
he  had  purchased  experience,  the  maddest  bra 
very,  and  a  lust  of  Spanish  gold  that  might  not 
be  easily  sated.  The  qualities  of  a  captain  over 
men  he  himself  supplied. 

In  his  confidence  neither  before  nor  after  their 
sailing,  yet  the  two  hundred  men  of  the  Sea 
Wraith  guessed  well  his  destination,  but  for  them 
selves  preferred  the  island  towns — Santiago  and 
Santo  Domingo  in  Hispaniola.  There  were 
wealth  and  wine  and  women,  there  the  fringing 
islets  where  booty  might  be  hidden,  and  there 
the  deep  caves  where  foregathered  many  small 
craft  misnamed  piratical.  "Lord!  the  Sea 
Wraith  would  soon  make  herself  Admiral  of  that 
brood,  leading  them  forth  from  those  hidden 
places  to  pounce  upon  Santo  Domingo,  that  was 
the  seat  of  government  and  as  wealthy  a  place 
as  any  in  the  Indies! — the  Sea  Wraith  and  her 
Captain,  that  was  a  good  Captain  and  a  tall! — ay, 
ay,  that  would  they  maintain  despite  all  land  talk 
— a  good  Captain  and  a  tall,  'spite  of  Dick  Car 
penter's  dream— 

"What  was  Dick  Carpenter's  dream?"  asked 
254 


the  Captain,  seated,  sword  in  hand  and  hat 
on  head,  before  a  deputation  from  the  fore 
castle. 

The  speaker  fidgeted,  then  out  came  the 
clumsy  taunt,  the  carpenter's  dream.  "Why, 
sir,  he  dreamed  he  saw  the  women  of  the  islands, 
sitting  by  the  shores,  a-sifting  gold-dust  and 
a-weighing  of  pearls ;— and  then  he  dreamed  that 
he  looked  along  the  sea-floor,  leagues  and  leagues 
to  the  south'ard,  until  he  saw  the  very  roots  of 
the  mainland,  and  the  great  fish  swimming  in  and 
out.  And  a  many  and  a  many  dead  men  were 
there,  drawn  into  ranks,  very  strange  to  see,  for 
their  swollen  flesh  yet  hung  to  their  bones,  and 
they  beckoned  and  laughed ;  and  Captain  Robert 
Baldry,  that  was  once,  on  a  Guinea  voyage,  Dick 
Carpenter's  Captain,  he  laughed  the  loudest  and 
beckoned  the  fastest.  And,  Sir  Mortimer  Feme, 
an  it  please  you,  we've  no  longing  to  follow  that 
beckoning." 

"Thou  dog!"  said  the  Captain,  with  no  change 
of  mien.  "  Presently  Dick  Carpenter  and  thou 
shall  have  food  for  dreams — bad  dreams,  bad 
dreams,  man !  Thou  fool,  have  I  set  thee  quak 
ing  who,  forsooth,  would  mutiny!  Begone,  the 
255 


whole  of  ye,  and  sail  the  whole  of  ye  wheresoever 
I  list  to  go!" 

Seeing  that  the  Sea  Wraith  obeyed  him  still, 
her  crew  believed  yet  more  devoutly  that  a  secret 
voice  spoke  in  his  ear  and  a  dark  hand  gave  him 
aid.  It  was  later,  when  he  began  to  feed  them 
gold,  that  they  who  owned  caps  threw  them  up 
for  him,  and  they  whose  brains  had  only  nature's 
thatching  shouted  for  him  as  for  a  demigod.  A 
Spanish  squadron  bound  for  The  Havannah  was 
met  by  a  hurricane,  several  of  its  ships  lost,  and 
the  remainder  widely  separated.  The  hurricane 
past,  forth  from  an  island  harbor  stole  the  Sea 
Wraith  that  so  many  storms  had  beleaguered. 
Gray  as  with  eld,  lonely  as  the  ark,  a  haggard 
ship  manned  by  outcasts,  she  spread  her  vam 
pire  wings  and  flitted  from  her  enshadowed  an 
chorage.  An  hour  later,  like  a  vampire  still, 
she  hooked  herself  to  a  gay  galleon  and  sucked 
from  it  life  that  was  cheap  and  gold  that  was 
dear;  then  descrying  other  sails,  she  left  that 
ruined  hulk  for  a  long  and  fierce  struggle  with  a 
Portuguese  carrack.  The  battle  waxed  so  fell 
that  the  carrack  also  might  have  been  worked 
by  men  who  had  all  to  win  and  naught  to  lose, 

256 


and  captained  by  one  who  bared  his  brow  to  the 
thunder-stone. 

Like  harpies  they  fought,  but  when  night  came 
there  was  only  the  Sea  Wraith  scudding  to  the 
south,  and  that  pied  crew  of  hers  knocking  at  the 
stars  with  the  knowledge  that  ever  and  always 
their  judgment  (even  though  he  asked  it  not) 
jumped  with  the  Captain's,  and  that  before  them 
lay  the  gilded  cities  and  the  chances  of  Pizarro. 
It  was  of  his  subtlety  that  the  Captain  never  used 
to  them  fair  promises,  spake  not  once  a  sennight 
of  gold,  never  bragged  to  them  of  what  must  be. 
Oh!  a  subtle  captain,  whose  very  strangeness 
was  his  best  lieutenant  upon  that  eldritch,  nine- 
lived  ship,  through  days  and  days  of  monstrous 
luck.  "  Baldry's  luck,"  quoth  the  mariner  who 
had  sailed  with  the  Star,  then  held  his  breath  and 
looked  askance  at  his  present  Captain,  who,  how 
ever,  could  nevfer  have  heard  him  up  there  on  the 
poop-deck!  Natheless  that  night  the  man  was 
ordered  forward,  and  finding  Sir  Mortimer  Feme 
sitting  alone,  save  for  the  boy,  in  the  great  cabin, 
was  bidden  to  talk  of  Robert  Baldry.  "Speak 
freely,  Carpenter, — freely!  Why,  thou  art  one 
of  his  friends,  and  I  another,  and  we  go,  some- 

257 


what  at  our  peril,  to  hale  him  from  perdition! 
Why,  thou  thyself  saw  him  beckoning  to  us  to 
hasten  and  do  our  friendly  part !  So  praise  thy 
old  Captain  to  me  with  all  thy  might.  We'll  fill 
an  empty  hour  with  stories  of  his  valor!"  He 
put  forth  his  hand  and  turned  the  hour-glass,  and 
the  carpenter  began  to  stammer  and  make  ex 
cuses,  which  no  whit  availed  him. 

At  last,  one  afternoon,  they  came  to  Margarita, 
and,  the  ship  needing  water,  they  entered  a  placid 
bight,  where  a  strip  of  dazzling  sand  lay  between 
the  rippling  surf  and  a  heavy  wood,  but  found 
beforehand  with  them  a  small  bark  from  the 
mainland,  her  crew  ashore  rilling  barrels  from  a 
limpid  spring,  and  her  master  and  a  Franciscan 
friar  eating  fruit  upon  her  tiny  poop.  The 
dozen  on  land  showed  their  heels;  the  worthless 
bark  was  taken,  a  party  with  calivers  landed  to 
complete  the  filling  of  the  abandoned  casks,  and 
the  master  and  the  friar  brought  before  the  Cap 
tain  of  the  Sea  Wraith  where  he  sat  beneath  a 
great  tree,  tasting  the  air  of  the  land.  An  in 
satiable  gatherer  of  Spanish  news,  it  was  his  cus 
tom  to  search  for  what  crumbs  of  knowledge  his 
captives  might  possess,  but  hitherto  the  yield, 

258 


pressed  together,  had  not  made  even  a  small 
cake  of  enlightenment.  He  was  prepared  to 
have  shortly  done  with  the  two  who  now  stood 
before  him.  The  seaman  cringed,  expecting 
torture,  furtively  watching  for  some  indication 
of  what  the  Englishman  wished  him  to  say.  A 
fellow  new  to  these  parts  and  ignorant,  he  wTould 
have  sworn  a  highway  to  El  Dorado  itself  if  that 
was  the  point  towards  which  his  inquisitor's  quiet, 
unemphatic  questions  tended ;  but  he  knew  not, 
and  his  lies  fell  dead  before  the  grave  eyes  of  the 
man  beneath  the  tree.  At  last  he  was  tossed 
aside  like  a  squeezed  sponge  and  the  Franciscan 
beckoned  forward,  who,  being  of  sturdier  make, 
twisted  his  thumbs  in  his  rope  girdle  and  pre 
pared  to  present  a  blank  countenance  to  those 
queries  of  armaments  and  treasure  which  an 
enemy  to  Spain  would  naturally  make.  But  the 
Englishman  asked  strange  questions;  so  general 
that  they  seemed  to  encompass  the  mainland 
from  Tres  Puntas  to  Nombre  de  Dios,  and  so  par 
ticular  that  it  was  even  as  if  he  were  interested 
in  the  friar  himself,  his  order,  and  his  wander 
ings  from  town  to  town,  the  sights  that  he  had 
seen  and  the  people  whom  he  had  known.  The 

259 


questions  seemed  harmless  as  mother's  milk,  but 
the  friar  was  shrewd ;  moreover,  in  his  youth  had 
been  driven  to  New  Spain  by  flaming  zeal  for  the 
conversion  of  countless  souls.  That  fire  had 
burned  low,  but  by  its  dying  light  he  knew  that 
this  man,  who  was  young  and  yet  so  still,  whose 
lowered  voice  was  but  as  sheathed  steel,  whose 
eyes  it  was  not  comfortable  to  meet,  had  set  his 
hand  to  a  plough  that  should  drive  a  straight  fur 
row,  was  sending  his  will  like  an  arrow  to  no  un 
certain  mark.  But  what  was  the  mark  the 
Franciscan  could  not  discover,  therefore  he  gave 
the  truth  or  a  lie  where  seemed  him  best,  in 
creasingly  the  truth,  as  it  increasingly  appeared 
that  lies  would  not  serve.  He  also,  seeing  that 
with  gathering  years  he  had  begun  to  set  value 
upon  flesh  and  bone,  wished  to  please  his  captor. 
He  glanced  stealthily  at  the  scarred  and  ancient 
craft  in  the  windless  harborage,  idly  flapping  her 
mended  sails,  before  he  said  aught  of  the  great 
English  ships  that  in  pomp  and  the  fulness  of 
pride  had  entered  these  waters  now  months 
agone.  The  Englishman  had  heard  of  this  ad 
venture —  so  much  was  evident  —  but  details 
would  seem  to  have  escaped  him.  He  knew, 

260 


"  THE    FRIAR   PRESENTED   A   BLANK  COUNTENANCE  TO 
SIR  MORTIMER'S  QUERIES  " 


IHr   f 

however,  that  there  had  been  first  victory  and 
then  defeat,  and  he  too  looked  at  his  ship  and  at 
the  guns  she  carried. 

"The  town  was  sacked,  but  the  castle  not 
taken,"  he  said.  "What,  good  brother,  if  I 
should  break  a  lance  in  these  same  lists?" 

"It  would  be  broken  indeed,"  said  the  friar, 
grimly.  "An  it  please  you,  I  will  bear  your 
challenge  to  Don  Juan  de  Mendez." 

"To  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola,"  said  the  man 
beneath  the  tree. 

"Pardon,  senor,  but  Juan  de  Mendez  is  at 
present  Governor  of  Nueva  Cordoba.  Don  Luiz 
de  Guardiola  has  been  transferred  to  Panama." 

The  Englishman  arose  and  looked  out  to  sea, 
his  hand  above  his  eyes  because  of  the  flash  and 
sparkle  of  the  sun  upon  the  water.  The  Fran 
ciscan,  having  told  the  truth,  wondered  forth 
with  if  falsehood  had  better  served  his  turn. 
Face  and  form  of  his  interlocutor  were  turned 
from  him,  but  he  saw  upon  the  hot,  wrhite  sand 
the  shadow  of  a  twitching  hand.  Moments  pass 
ed  before  the  shadow  was  still ;  then  said  the  Eng 
lishman,  in  a  changed  voice: 

"Since  you  know  of  its  governors,  old  and 
261 


£>tr   Mortimer 

new,  I  judge  you  to  be  of  Nueva  Cordoba.  So 
you  may  inform  me  of  certain  matters." 

"You  mistake,  sefior,  you  mistake,"  began  the 
Franciscan,  somewhat  hastily.  "The  master  of 
the  bark  will  bear  witness  that  I  came  to  Mar 
garita  upon  the  Santa  Maria,  sailing  directly 
from  Cartagena,  but  that,  being  ill,  I  chose  to  re 
cover  myself  at  Pampatar  before  proceeding  (as 
you  now  behold  me,  valorous  senor)  to  His- 
paniola,  and  thence  by  the  first  vessel  home  to 
Spain,  to  the  convent  of  my  order  at  Segovia, 
which  is  my  native  town.  I  know  naught  of 
Nueva  Cordoba  beyond  that  which  I  have  told 
you." 

"Why,  I  believe  thee,"  answered  the  English 
man,  his  back  still  turned.  "You  go  from  Car 
tagena,  where,  Franciscan  and  Dominican,  you 
play  so  large  a  part  in  this  world's  affairs,  to  your 
order  at  Segovia,  which  is  an  inland  town,  and 
doubtless  hath  no  great  knowledge  of  these  out 
landish  parts.  Your  tongue  will  tire  with  telling 
of  wonders." 

"Why,  that  is  true,"  answered  the  other. 
"One  lives  not  fifteen  years  in  these  parts  to 
carry  away  but  a  handful  of  marvels. ' '  Relieved 

262 


by  the  easiness  of  his  examination  and  the  cour 
tesy  of  his  captor,  he  even  smiled  and  ventured 
upon  a  small  pleasantry.  "You  cannot  take 
from  me,  redoubtable  serior,  that  which  my  eyes 
have  seen  and  my  ears  have  heard." 

Feme  wheeled.  "  Give  me  the  letter  which 
you  bear  from  your  superior  at  Cartagena  to  the 
head  of  your  order  at  Segovia." 

As  he  recoiled,  the  Franciscan's  hand  went 
involuntarily  to  the  breast  of  his  gown,  and  then 
fell  again  to  his  side.  The  Captain  of  the  Sea 
Wraith  whistled,  and  several  of  the  mariners, 
who  were  now  rolling  the  water-casks  down  the 
little  beach  to  the  waiting  boats,  came  at  his  call. 
' '  Seize  him , ' '  ordered  the  Captain .  ' '  Robin ,  take 
from  him  the  packet  he  carries." 

When  he  had  from  the  boy's  hand  a  small, 
silk-enwrapped  packet,  and  had  given  orders  for 
the  guarding  of  the  two  prisoners,  he  turned  and 
strode  alone  into  the  woods,  which  stretched 
almost  to  the  water's  edge.  It  was  as  though  he 
had  plunged  into  a  green  cavern  far  below  the 
sea.  In  slow  waves,  to  and  fro,  swayed  the 
firmament  of  palms ;  lower,  flowering  lianas,  jew 
el-colored,  idle  as  weeds  of  the  sea,  ran  in  tangles 

263 


and  gaudy  mazes  from  tree  to  tree.  He  sat  him 
self  down  in  the  green  gloom,  broke  seal,  un 
wrapped  the  silk,  and  read  the  letter,  which  he 
had  acutely  guessed  could  not  fail  of  being  sent 
by  so  responsible  a  hand  as  the  friar's  from  one 
dignitary  of  the  order  to  another.  Much  stateli- 
ness  of  Latin  greeting,  commendation  of  the  re 
turning  missionary,  mention  of  a  slight  present 
of  a  golden  dish  wrought  in  alacrity  and  joy  by 
Indian  converts;  lastly,  and  with  some  minute 
ness,  the  gossip,  political  and  ecclesiastical,  of 
the  past  twelfth  month.  The  sinking  of  the 
Spanish  ships  and  the  sacking  of  the  town  of 
Nueva  Cordoba  by  English  pirates,  together  with 
their  final  defeat,  were  touched  upon ;  but  more 
was  made  of  the  yield  to  the  Church  of  heretic 
souls,  in  all  of  whom  Satan  stood  fast.  The  Holy 
Office  had  delivered  them  to  the  secular  arm,  and 
the  letter  closed  with  a  circumstantial  account 
of  a  great  auto-de-fe  in  the  square  of  Cartagena. 
Without  the  wood,  upon  the  edge  of  white 
sand,  the  men  of  the  Sea  Wraith  waited  for  their 
Captain.  At  last  he  came,  so  quiet  of  mien  and 
voice  that  only  Robin-a-dale  stared,  caught  his 
breath,  and  gazed  hard  upon  an  ashen  face. 

264 


Feme's  orders  were  of  the  curtest:  Begone, 
every  man  of  them,  to  the  Sea  Wraith,  and  lie 
at  anchor  waiting  for  the  morning.  For  himself, 
he  should  spend  the  night  ashore;  they  might 
leave  for  him  the  cockboat,  and  with  the  first  light 
he  would  come  aboard.  The  two  prisoners,— 
place  them  in  the  ransacked  bark  and  let  them 
go  whither  they  would  or  could.  He  glanced  in 
their  direction,  then  turning  sharply,  crossed  the 
sand  to  stand  for  a  moment  beside  the  Francis 
can. 

"  Prithee,  thou  brown-robed  fellow,  how  looked 
he  in  a  sanbenito — that  tall,  fierce,  black-bearded 
Captain  that  your  Provincial  mentions  here?" 
The  parchment  rustled  in  his  hand. 

The  friar  quailed  before  the  narrowed  eyes; 
then,  the  old  flame  in  him  leaping  up,  he  an 
swered,  boldly  enough,  "  It  became  him  well, 
serior, — well  as  it  becomes  every  enemy  to  Spain 
and  the  Church!" 

The  other  slightly  laughed.  "Why,  go  thy 
ways  for  a  man  of  courage !  but  go  quickly,  while 
as  yet  in  all  this  steadfast  world  I  find  no  fault 
save  with  myself." 

He  stood  to  watch  the  embarkment  of  the 
265 


g>tr    fSnr  ttmrr 

mariners,  who,  if  they  wondered  at  this  latest 
command,  had  learned  at  least  to  wonder  in  si 
lence.  But  Robin-a-dale  hung  back,  made  pro 
test.  "Go!"  said  his  master,  whereupon  Robin 
went  indeed — not  to  the  awaiting  boat,  but  with 
a  defiant  cry  and  a  rush  across  the  sloping  sand 
into  the  thick  wood.  The  green  depths  which 
received  him  were  so  labyrinthine,  so  filled  with 
secret  places  wherein  to  hide,  that  an  hour's 
search  might  not  dislodge  him.  The  sometime 
Captain  of  the  Cygnet  let  pass  his  wilfulness, 
signed  to  the  boats  to  push  off,  awaited  in  silence 
the  fulfilment  of  all  his  commands ;  then  turning, 
rounded  the  eastern  point  of  the  tiny  bay,  and 
was  lost  to  sight  in  the  shadows  of  the  now  late 
afternoon. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  lofty  trees ;  the 
brief  dusk  passed,  and  the  little  beach  showed 
faintly  beneath  the  stars,  great  and  small,  of  a 
moonless  night.  Above  the  western  horizon 
clouds  arose  and  the  lightning  constantly  flashed, 
but  there  was  no  thunder,  and  only  the  sound  of 
the  low  surf  upon  the  shore.  Robin,  creeping 
from  the  wood,  saw  the  Sea  Wraith  at  anchor,  and 
by  the  distant  lightning  the  bark  from  Pampatar 

266 


drifting  far  away  without  sail  or  rudder.  Round 
ing  the  crescent  of  gleaming  sand,  he  lost  the  Sea 
Wraith  and  the  bark,  but  found  whom  he  sought. 
Finding  him,  he  made  no  sign,  but  sat  himself 
down  in  the  lee  of  a  sand-dune,  and  with  a  mem 
ory  swept  clear  of  later  prayers,  presently  began 
in  a  frightened  whisper  to  say  his 

"Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John—" 

Half-way  down  the  pallid  beach  stood  Feme, 
visible  enough  even  by  the  starlight,  now  and 
then  completely  shown  by  one  strong  lightning 
flash.  His  doublet  was  thrown  aside,  his  right 
arm  advanced,  his  hand  grasping  the  hilt  of  his 
drawn  sword.  But  the  sword  point  was  lowered, 
his  breast  bared ;  he  stood  like  one  who  awaits, 
who  invites,  the  last  thrust,  in  mortal  surrender 
to  an  invisible  foe.  The  lines  of  the  figure  ex 
pressed  a  certain  weariness  and  suspense,  as  of 
one  who  would  that  all  was  over,  and  who  finds 
the  victor  strangely  tardy.  The  face,  seen  by 
the  occasional  lightning  flash,  was  a  little  raised, 
a  little  expectant. 

Robin  -  a  -  dale,  seeing  and  comprehending, 
buried  his  head  in  his  arms  and  with  his  fingers 

267 


dug  into  the  sand.  Now  and  then  he  looked  up, 
but  always  there  was  the  pallid  slope  of  the 
beach,  the  intermittent  break  of  the  surf  that 
was  like  the  inflection  of  a  voice  low  and  far  away, 
the  stars  and  the  groups  of  stars,  strange,  strange 
after  those  of  home,  the  lightning  from  the  west 
ern  heavens,  the  duellist  awaiting  with  lowered 
point  the  coming  of  that  antagonist  who  had  so 
fiercely  lived,  so  fiercely  died,  so  fiercely  hated 
that  to  the  reeling  brain  of  his  challenger  it  well 
might  seem  that  Death,  now  holding  the  door 
between  betrayed  and  betrayer  might  not  prevail. 

The  boy's  heart  was  a  stone  within  him,  and 
he  saw  not  why  God  allowed  much  that  went  on 
beneath  His  throne.  A  long  time  he  endured, 
half  prone  upon  the  sand,  hating  the  sound  of  the 
surf,  hating  the  flash  of  the  lightning ;  but  at  last, 
when  a  great  part  of  the  night  had  passed,  he 
arose  and  went  towards  his  master.  The  shadow 
of  the  dune  disguised  the  slightness  of  his  form, 
and  his  foot  struck  with  some  violence  against  a 
shell.  The  lightning  flashed,  and  he  saw  Feme's 
waiting  face. 

"  Master,  master!"  he  cried.  "  Tis  only  Rob 
in, — not  him!  not  him!  Master — ' 

268 


Stumbling  over  the  sand,  he  fell  beside  the 
man  whose  soul  cried  in  vain  unto  Robert  Baldry 
to  return  and  claim  his  vengeance,  and  wrenched 
at  the  hand  that  seemed  to  have  grown  to  the 
sword-hilt.  "You  are  not  kind!"  he  wailed. 
"Oh,  let  me  have  it!" 

"Kind!"  echoed  Feme,  slowly.  "In  this  sick 
universe  there  is  no  kindness — no,  nor  never  was ! 
There  is  the  space  between  rack  and  torch."  In 
the  flashing  of  the  lightning  he  loosed  his  rigid 
clasp,  and  the  sword,  clanking  against  the  scab 
bard,  fell  upon  the  sand.  The  lightning  widened 
into  a  sheet  of  pale  violet  and  the  surf  broke  with 
a  deeper  voice.  "Canst  thou  not  find  me,  O 
mine  enemy?"  cried  Feme,  aloud. 

Presently,  the  boy  yet  clinging  to  him,  he  sank 
down  beside  him  on  the  sand.  "Sleep,  boy; 
sleep,"  he  said.  "Now  I  know  that  the  gulf  is 
fixed  indeed,  and  that  they  lie  who  say  the  ghost 
returns." 

"  It  is  near  the  dawning,"  said  the  boy.  "  Do 
you  rest,  master,  and  I  will  watch." 

"  Nay,"  answered  the  other.  "  I  have  pictures 
to  look  upon.  .  .  .  Well,  well,  lay  thy  head  upon 
the  sand  and  dream  of  a  merry  world,  and  I  my- 

269 


HHr   fHort 

self  will  close  my  eyes.  An  he  will,  he  may  take 
me  sleeping." 

Robin  slept  and  dreamed  of  Feme  House  and 
the  horns  of  the  hunters.  At  last  the  horns 
came  so  loudly  over  the  hills  that  he  awakened, 
to  find  himself  lying  alone  on  the  sand  in  a  great 
and  solemn  flush  of  dawn.  He  started  up  with 
a  beating  heart ;  but  there,  coming  towards  him 
from  a  bath  in  the  misty  sea,  was  his  master, 
dressed,  and  with  his  sword  again  in  its  sheath. 
As  he  made  closer  approach,  the  strengthening 
dawn  showed  the  distinction  of  form  and  coun 
tenance.  To  the  latter  had  returned  the  still 
ness  and  the  worn  beauty  of  yesterday,  before 
the  bark  from  Pampatar  had  brought  news. 
The  head  was  bared,  and  the  light  fell  curiously 
upon  the  short  and  waving  hair,  imparting  to  it, 
as  it  seemed,  some  quality  of  its  own.  Robin, 
beholding,  stumbled  to  his  feet,  staring  and 
trembling. 

"  Why  dost  thou  shake  so?"  asked  the  Captain 
of  the  Sea  Wraith.  "And  thou  art  as  white  as 
is  the  sand!  God  forfend  that  the  fever  be  on 
thee!" 

More  nearly  the  old  voice  of  before  these  evil 
270 


days  of  low,  stern  utterance!  More  nearly  the 
old,  kindly  touch!  Robin-a-dale,  suddenly  em 
boldened,  caught  at  hand  and  arm  and  burst  into 
a  passionate  outcry,  a  frenzy  of  entreaty.  "  Home ! 
home!  may  we  not  go  home  now?  They're  all 
dead — Captain  Robert  Baldry  and  Ralph  Walter 
and  all!  And  you  meant  no  harm  by  them — 
O  Jesu!  you  meant  no  harm!  There's  gold  in 
the  hold  of  the  Sea  Wraith  for  to  buy  back  Feme 
House,  and  now  that  you've  won,  and  won 
again  from  the  Spaniard,  the  Queen  will  not  be 
angry  any  more!  And  Sir  John  and  Sir  Philip 
and  Master  Arden  will  bid  us  welcome,  and  men 
will  come  to  stare  at  the  Sea  Wraith  that  has 
fought  so  many  battles!  Master,  master,  let  us 
home  to  Feme  House,  where,  at  sunset,  in  the 
garden,  you  and  the  lady  walked!  Master — ' 

His  voice  failed.  Sir  Mortimer  loosed  the  fin 
gers  that  yet  clung  to  his  arm.  "  When  I  am 
king  of  these  parts,  thou  shalt  be  my  jester,"  he 
said.  "Come!  for  it's  up  sail  and  far  away  this 
morning, — far  away  as  Panama.  I  am  thirsty. 
We'll  drink  of  the  spring  and  then  begone." 

WThen  they  had  rounded  once  more  the  wooded 
point  they  saw  the  Sea  Wraith,  and  drawn  up 

271 


upon  the  sand  its  cockboat.  The  sun  had  risen,  so 
that  now  when  they  entered  the  forest  there  was 
ample  light  by  which  to  find  out  the  slowly  well 
ing  spring,  so  limpid  in  its  basin  as  to  serve  for 
mirror  to  the  forest  creatures  who  drank  there 
from.  All  the  tenants  of  the  forest  were  awake. 
They  hooted  and  chattered,  screamed  and  sang. 
Orange  and  green  and  red,  the  cockatoos  flashed 
through  the  air,  or  perched  upon  great  boughs 
beside  parasitic  blooms  as  gaudy  as  themselves. 
Giant  palms  rustled;  monkeys  slid  down  the 
swinging  lianas,  to  climb  again  with  haste,  chat 
tering  wildly  at  human  intrusion;  butterflies 
fluttered  aside;  the  spotted  snake  glided  to  its 
deeper  haunts.  Suddenly,  in  the  distance,  a  wild 
beast  roared,  and  when  the  thunder  ceased  there 
was  a  mad  increase  of  the  lesser  voices.  Sound 
was  everywhere,  but  no  sweetness;  only  the 
mockery,  gibing,  and  laughter  of  an  unseen  mul 
titude.  From  the  topmost  palm  frond  to  the 
overcolored  fungi  patching  the  black  earth  arro 
gant  Beauty  ruled,  but  to  the  weary  eyes  that 
looked  upon  her  she  was  become  an  evil  queen. 
Better  one  blade  of  English  grass,  better  one  song 
of  the  lark,  than  the  gardens  of  Persephone! 

272 


Feme,  kneeling  beside  the  spring,  stooped  to 
drink.  Clear  as  that  fountain  above  which  Nar 
cissus  leaned,  the  water  gave  him  back  each  line 
ament  of  the  man  who,  accepting  his  own  earthly 
defeat,  had  yet  gathered  all  the  powers  of  his 
being  to  the  task  of  overmastering  that  bitter 
Fate  into  whose  hands  he  had  delivered,  bound, 
both  friend  and  foe;  the  man  for  whom,  now 
that  he  knew  what  he  knew,  now  that  the  fierce 
victrix  had  borne  away  her  prey,  was  left  but  that 
remaining  purpose,  that  darker  thread  which  since 
yesterday's  snapping  of  its  fellow  strands  had 
grown  strong  with  the  strength  of  all.  Before  the 
water  could  touch  his  lips  he  also  saw  the  mark 
one  night  had  set  upon  him,  and  drew  back  with 
a  slight  start  from  his  image  in  the  pool;  then, 
after  a  moment,  bent  again  and  drank  his  fill. 

When  Robin-a-dale  had  also  quenched  his 
thirst  the  two  left  the  forest,  and  together  dragged 
the  cockboat  down  the  sand  and  launched  it  over 
the  gentle  surf.  Feme  rowed  slowly,  with  a 
mind  that  was  not  for  Robin,  nor  the  glory  of 
the  tropic  morning,  nor  the  shock  of  yesterday, 
nor  the  night's  despair.  He  looked  ahead,  de 
vising  means  to  an  end,  and  his  brows  were  yet 

273 


bent  in  thought  when  the  boat  touched  the  Sea 
Wraith's  side. 

As  much  a  statesman  of  the  sea  as  Drake  him 
self,  he  knew  how  to  gild  authority  and  hold  it 
high,  so  that  they  beneath  might  take  indeed 
the  golden  bubble  for  the  sun  that  warmed  them. 
He  kept  state  upon  the  Sea  Wraith  as  upon  .the 
Cygnet,  though  of  necessity  it  was  worn  with  a 
difference.  For  him  now,  as  then,  music  played 
while  he  sat  at  table  in  the  great  cabin,  alone,  or 
with  his  rude  lieutenants,  in  a  silence  seldom 
broken.  Now,  as  he  stepped  upon  deck,  there 
was  a  flourish  of  trumpets,  together  with  the 
usual  salute  from  mariners  and  soldiers  drawn 
up  to  receive  him.  But  their  eyes  stared  and  their 
lips  seemed  dry,  and  when  he  called  to  him  the 
master  who  had  fought  with  Barbary  pirates  for 
half  a  lifetime,  the  master  trembled  somewhat 
as  he  came. 

It  was  the  hour  for  morning  prayer,  and  the 
Sea  Wraith  lacked  not  her  chaplain,  a  man 
honeycombed  with  disease  and  secret  sin.  The 
singing  to  a  hidden  God  swelled  so  loud  that  it 
rang  in  the  ears  of  the  sick  below,  tossing,  toss 
ing,  muttering  and  murmuring,  though  it  pierced 

274 


Js>tr   iHorttm^r 

not  the  senses  of  them  who  lay  still,  who  lay  very, 
very  still.  The  hymn  ended,  the  chaplain  be 
gan  to  read,  but  the  gray-haired  Captain  stopped 
him  with  a  gesture.  "Not  that,"  he  command 
ed.  "Read  me  a  psalm  of  vengeance,  Sir  De- 
mas, — a  psalm  of  righteous  vengeance!" 


XI 


N  England,  since  the  stealing 
forth  of  one  lonely  ship,  heard 
of  no  more,  three  spring -times 
had  kissed  finger-tips  to  winter 
and  bourgeoned  into  summer, 
and  three  summers  had  held  court  in  pride,  then 
shrivelled  into  autumn.  In  King  Philip  of  Spain 
his  Indies,  blazing  sunshine,  cataracts  of  rain, 
had  marked  off  a  like  number  of  years,  when  Sir 
Francis  Drake  with  an  armada  of  five-and-twenty 
ships,  fresh  from  the  spoiling  of  Santiago  and 
Santo  Domingo,  held  the  strong  town  of  Carta 
gena,  and  awaited  the  tardy  forthcoming  of  the 
Spanish  ransom.  Week  piled  itself  upon  week, 
and  the  full  amount  was  yet  lacking.  When 
negotiations  prospered  and  the  air  was  full  of 
promise,  Sir  Francis  and  all  his  captains  and  vol 
unteers  were  most  courteous,  exchanging  with 
their  enemies  compliment  and  entertainment; 
when  the  Spanish  commissioners  drew  back,  or 

276 


Sir    fHnrtimrr 

when  the  morning  report  of  the  English  dead 
from  fever  or  old  injuries  was  long,  half  the  day 
might  be  spent  in  the  deliberate  sacking  of  some 
portion  of  the  town.  With  the  afternoon  the 
commissioners  gave  ground  again,  and  like 
enough  the  evening  ended  with  some  splendid 
love-feast  between  Spaniard  and  Englishman. 
On  the  morrow  came  the  usual  hitch,  the  usual 
assurances  that  the  gold  of  the  town  had  been 
buried  (one  knew  not  where)  by  its  fleeing  peo 
ple,  the  usual  proud  wheedling  for  the  naming 
by  the  victors  of  a  far  lower  ransom.  Drake 
having  reaped  more  glory  than  gain  from  Santi 
ago  and  Santo  Domingo,  was  now  obstinate  in 
his  demand,  but  Carlisle,  the  Lieutenant-General, 
counselled  less  rigorous  terms,  and  John  Nevil, 
who  with  two  ships  of  his  own  had  joined  Drake 
at  the  Terceiras,  spoke  of  the  fever. 

"  It  is  no  common  sickness.  Each  day  sees  a 
battle  lost  by  us,  won  by  the  Spaniard.  You 
have  held  his  strongest  city  for  now  five  weeks. 
There  are  other  cities,  other  adventures  upon 
which  thou  wilt  fight  again,  and  again  and  again 
until  thou  diest,  Frank  Drake." 

"There  were  a  many  dead  this  morning,"  put 
277 


j$ir   Hurtinur 

in  Powell,  the  sergeant-major.  ''There  had 
been  a  many  more  were't  not  for  the  friar's 
remedy." 

Drake  moved  impatiently.  "  I  would  your 
miracle  of  St.  Francis  his  return  had  wrought 
itself  somewhat  sooner.  Now  it  is  late  in  the 
day, — though  God  knows  I  am  glad  for  the  least 
of  my  poor  fellows  if  he  be  raised  from  his  sick 
ness  through  this  or  any  other  cure.  .  .  .  Captain 
Carlisle,  you  will  see  to  it  that  before  night  I 
have  the  opinion  of  all  the  land  captains  touch 
ing  our  contentment  with  a  moiety  of  the  ran 
som  and  our  leave-taking  of  this  place.  Captain 
Cecil,  you  will  speak  for  the  officers  of  the 
ships.  Three  nights  from  now  the  Governor  feasts 
us  yet  again,  and  on  that  night  this  matter 
shall  be  determined.  Gentlemen,  the  council  is 
over." 

As  the  group  dissolved  and  the  men  began  to 
move  and  speak  with  freedom,  Giles  Arden 
touched  Captain  Powell  upon  the  sleeve. 

"What  monk's  tale  is  this  of  a  Spanish  friar 
who  wastes  the  elixir  of  life  upon  Lutheran  dogs  ? 
I'  faith,  I  had  bodeful  dreams  last  night,  and 
waked  this  morning  now  hot,  now  cold.  I'll  end 

278 


my  days  with  no  foul  fever — an  I  can  help  it! 
What's  the  man  and  his  remedy?" 

"Why,"  answered  Powell,  doubtfully,  "his 
words  are  Spanish,  but  at  times  I  do  think  the 
man  is  no  such  thing.  He  came  to  the  camp  a 
week  agone,  waving  a  piece  of  \vhite  cloth  and 
supporting  a  youth,  who,  it  seems,  was  like  to 
have  pined  away  amongst  the  Indian  villages,  all 
for  lack  of  Christian  sights  and  sounds.  The 
friar  having  brought  him  to  the  hospital,  wished 
to  leave  him  with  the  chirurgeons  and  himself 
return  to  the  Indians,  whom,  we  understand,  he 
has  gathered  into  a  mission.  But  the  youth  cried 
out,  and  clutching  at  the  other's  robe  (i'  was  a 
pity  to  see,  for  he  was  very  weak),  dragged  him 
self  to  his  feet  and  set  his  face  also  to  the  forest. 
Whereupon  the  elder  gave  way,  and  since  then 
has  nursed  his  companion  —  ay,  and  many  an 
other  poor  soul  who  longs  no  more  for  gold  and 
the  strange  things  of  earth.  As  for  the  remedy — 
he  goes  to  the  forest  and  returns,  and  with  him 
two  or  maybe  three  stout  Indians  bearing  bark 
and  branch  of  a  certain  tree,  from  which  he  makes 
an  infusion.  ...  I  only  know  that  for  wellnigh 
all  the  stricken  he  hath  lightened  the  fever,  and 
279 


that  he  hath  recalled  to  life  many  an  one  whom 
the  chirurgeon  had  given  over  to  the  chap 
lain." 

"What  like  is  the  youth?"  queried  Arden. 

"Why,  scarce  a  boy,  nor  yet  a  man  in  years; 
and,  for  all  his  illness,  watcheth  the  other  like 
any  faithful  dog.  English,  moreover — " 

"English!" 

"At  times  he  grows  light-headed,  and  then  his 
speech  is  English,  but  the  gowned  fellow  stills 
him  with  his  hand,  or  gives  him  some  potion, 
whereupon  he  sleeps." 

"What  like  is  this  Spanish  friar?"  broke  in 
suddenly  and  with  harshness  Sir  John  Nevil's 
voice. 

"Why,  sir,"  Powell  answered,  "his  cowl  over 
shadows  his  face,  but  going  suddenly  on  yester 
day  into  the  hut  where  he  bides  with  the  youth, 
I  saw  that  as  he  bent  over  his  patient  the  cowl 
had  fallen  back.  My  gran'ther  (rest  his  soul!), 
who  died  at  ninety,  had  not  whiter  hair." 

"An  old  man!"  exclaimed  Sir  John,  and,  sigh 
ing,  turned  himself  in  his  chair.  Arden,  rising, 
left  the  company  for  the  window,  where  he  looked 
down  upon  the  city  of  Cartagena  and  outward 

280 


to  the  investing  fleet.  The  streets  of  the  town 
were  closed  by  barricades,  admirably  constructed 
by  the  Spaniards,  but  now  in  English  possession. 
Beyond  the  barricades  and  near  the  sea,  where 
the  low  and  narrow  buildings  were,  lay  the 
wounded  and  the  fever-stricken; — rude  hospital 
enough!  to  some  therein  but  a  baiting-place 
where  pain  and  panic  and  the  miseries  of  the 
brain  were  become,  for  the  time,  their  bed-fel 
lows;  to  others  the  very  house  of  dissolution,  a 
fast-crumbling  shelter  built  upon  the  brim  of  the 
world,  with  Death,  the  impartial  beleaguer,  al 
ready  at  the  door.  Arden  turned  aside  and 
joined  the  group  about  Drake,  the  great  sea-cap 
tain  in  whose  company  nor  fear  nor  doubting 
melancholy  could  long  hold  place. 

That  night,  shortly  after  the  setting  of  the 
watch,  Sir  John  Nevil,  with  a  man  or  two  behind 
him,  found  himself  challenged  at  the  barricade 
of  a  certain  street,  gave  the  word,  and  passed  on, 
to  behold  immediately  before  him  and  travelling 
the  same  road  a  dark,  unattended  figure.  To 
his  sharp  "Who  goes  there?"  a  familiar  voice 
made  answer,  and  Arden  paused  until  his  friend 
and  leader  came  up  with  him. 

281 


"A  common  road  and  a  common  goal,"  spoke 
Nevil. 

"Ay! — common  fools!"  answered  the  other. 
"Who  hearing  of  gray  geese,  must  think,  for 
sooth,  of  a  swan  whose  plumage  turned  from 
white  to  black !  And  yet,  God  knows !  to  one,  at 
least,  the  selfsame  splendid  swan;  if  lost,  then 
lost  magnificently.  .  .  .  This  is  an  idle  errand." 

"The  youth  is  English,"  replied  Nevil. 

"Did  you  speak  to  Powell?" 

"Ay;  I  told  him  that  I  should  visit  the  hos 
pital  this  night.  We  are  close  at  hand.  Hark! 
that  was  the  scream  of  a  dying  man.  Christ  rest 
whatever  soul  hath  taken  flight!" 

"There  is  a  pale  light  surrounds  this  place," 
said  Arden.  "  It  comes  from  the  fires  which  they 
burn  as  though  the  black  death  were  upon  us. 
Do  you  hear  that  groaning?  —  and  there  they 
carry  out  a  weighted  body.  War!  ..." 

A  group  of  men  moved  towards  them — Pow 
ell,  a  chirurgeon,  a  soldier  or  two.  Another  min 
ute  and  all  were  gathered  before  the  hut  of  which 
Powell  had  made  mention.  That  worthy  officer 
waved  back  their  following,  and  the  three  alone 
entered  the  dimly  lighted  place. 

282 


"The  friar  is  not  here,"  said  Powell,  in  a  tone 
of  vexation.  "  Passing  this  way,  I  did  but  look 
within  to  cheer  the  youth  by  some  mention  of 
the  honor  that  was  intended  him  to-night.  Now 
they  tell  me  that  the  man  went  to  the  forest  ere 
sunset  and  hath  not  returned.  Also  that  he  gave 
the  youth  a  sleeping  potion— 

"Which  hath  not  brought  sleep,"  answered 
Arden,  who  was  keen  of  sight. 

"I  took  it  not!"  cried  out  the  half -risen  form 
from  its  pallet  in  the  corner  of  the  hut.  "He 
thought  I  drank  it,  but  when  his  head  was  turned 
I  threw  it  away.  Master  Arden!  Master  Ar 
den!  come  over  to  me!" 

Arden  raised,  embraced,  supported  the  figure 
that,  quivering  with  weakness  and  excitement, 
might  also  feel  the  heaving  breast,  the  quick 
ened  heart -beats,  of  the  man  who  held  him. 
Nevil,  in  whom  deep  emotion  was  not  apt  to 
show  itself,  knelt  beside  the  pallet,  and  taking 
the  thin  hands,  caressed  them  like  a  very  woman. 

" Lad,  lad,"  he  whispered,  "where  is  thy  mas 
ter?  Is  he  dead  ?  Or  did  he  leave  thee  here  but 
now  to  search  for  simples?" 

Robin-a-dale  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 

283 


great  eyes  shining  in  a  thin,  brown  face.  "  Three 
years,"  he  said, — "  three  years  since  we  crept 
away  from  Feme  House  in  a  ship  that  was  called 
-  that  was  called  —  that  was  called  the  Sea 
Wraith.  But  no  trumpets  sounded,  and  there 
was  no  throng  to  shout  farewell.  Why  was  that  ? 
But  I  remember  it  was  three  years  ago."  He 
laughed  weakly.  "I'm  a  man  grown,  Master 
Arden,  but  here's  still  the  rose  noble  which  you 
gave  me  once.  .  .  .  No ;  I  must  have  lost  it  in  the 
woods."  He  nodded  sagely.  "I  remember;  I 
lost  it  where  the  river  came  over  the  great  rock 
with  a  noise  that  made  me  think  of  a  little,  slid 
ing  stream  at  home.  It  was  Yuletide,  but  the 
flowers  smelled  too  sweet,  and  the  great  apes 
and  the  little  monkeys  sat  in  the  red  trees  and 
mocked  me." 

"He  wanders  again,"  said  Powell,  with  vexa 
tion.  "  The  friar  can  bring  him  back  with  voice 
or  touch,  but  not  I!" 

"  Where  is  the  Sea  Wraith,  Robin-a-dale  ?  An 
swer  me!"  Nevil's  voice  rose,  cold  and  command 
ing,  questioning  this  as  any  other  derelict  haled 
before  him. 

Instinctively  Robin  brought  his  wits  somewhat 
284 


LAD,    LAD,'    HE    WHISPERED,  '  WHERE    IS   THY 
MASTER?'  " 


together.  ' c  The  Sea  Wraith,' '  he  echoed.  ' '  Why, 
that  was  long  ago.  .  .  .  Sixscore  men,  we  left  her 
hidden  between  the  islet  and  the  land  until  we 
should  return.  .  .  .  Her  mariners  were  willing  to 
be  left — ay,  and  when  I'm  a  knight  I'll  maintain 
it! — their  blood  is  not  upon  his  hands.  .  .  .  But 
when  six  men  from  that  sixscore  came  again  to 
the  coast  there  was  no  ship, — so  I  think  that  she 
sank  some  night,  or  maybe  the  Spaniards  took 
her,  or  maybe  she  grew  tired  and  sailed  away, — 
we  were  so  long  in  winning  back  from  Panama." 

There  was  a  deep  exclamation  from  his  listen 
ers  .  ' '  From  Pan ama ! ' ' 

Robin  regarded  them  anxiously,  for  to  Nevil 
at  least  he  had  always  spoken  truth,  and  now  he 
dimly  wondered  within  himself  if  he  were  lying. 
"The  nest  at  Nueva  Cordoba  was  empty,"  he 
explained.  "The  hawk  had  killed  the  sparrows 
and  flown  far  away  to  Panama." 

"And  the  eagle  followed  the  hawk,"  muttered 
Arden.  "  Was  there  not  one  sparrow  left  alive, 
Robin?" 

Robin  mournfully  shook  his  head.  "The 
commoner  sort  went  to  the  galleys ;  others  were 
burned.  ,--.-  .  Is  this  city  named  Cartagena? 

285 


!£fr   ffinritmrr 

Then  'twas  in  this  city  Captain  Robert  Baldry 
and  Ralph  Walter  and  more  than  they,  dressed 
in  sanbenitos,  burning  in  the  market-place.  .  .  . 
We  learned  this  at  Margarita,  so  my  master 
would  go  to  Panama  to  wring  the  hawk's  neck. 
.  .  .  But  the  Sea  Wraith  was  heavy  with  gold  and 
silver,  and  all  the  scoundrels  upon  her  wished  to 
turn  homewards.  But  he  bore  them  down,  and 
there  was  a  compact  made  and  signed.  For 
them  all  the  treasure  that  we  had  gotten  or 
should  get,  and  for  him  their  help  to  Panama 
that  he  might  take  his  private  vengeance.  .  .  . 
And  so  we  put  on  all  sail  and  we  coasted  a  many 
days,  sometimes  fighting  and  sometimes  not, 
until  we  drew  in  towards  the  land  and  found  a 
little  harbor  masked  by  an  islet  and  near  to  a 
river.  And  a  third  of  our  men  we  left  with  the 
Sea  Wraith.  But  Sir  Mortimer  Feme  and  I— 
my  name  is  Robin  -  a  -  dale  —  we  took  all  the 
boats  to  go  as  far  as  we  might  by  way  of  the 
river.  And  my  master  rowed  strongly  in  the 
first  boat,  and  I  rowed  strongly  in  the  second,  for 
we  rowed  for  hate  and  love ;  but  the  other  boats 
came  on  feebly,  for  they  were  rowed  by  ghosts— 
Arden  moved  beneath  the  emaciated  form  he 
286 


held,  and  Powell  uttered  an  ejaculation.  But 
John  Nevil  used  command. 

"Back,  sirrah!  to  the  truth,"  and  the  crowd 
ing  fancies  gave  ground  again. 

"  It  was  the  Indians  who  shot  at  us  poisoned 
arrows.  They  made  ghosts  of  many  rowers. 
Ha !  in  all  my  nineteen  years  I  have  not  seen  an 
uglier  death !  That  was  why  we  must  leave  the 
river,  hiding  the  boats  against  the  time  that  we 
returned  that  way  .  .  .  returned  that  way." 

"You  went  on  through  the  woods  towards 
Panama.  And  then — :  Nevil' s  voice  rose 
again. 

"The  wrath  of  God!"  answered  the  boy,  and 
turning  within  Arden's  clasp,  began  to  babble 
of  London  streets  and  the  Triple  Tun.  The  claw- 
like  hands  had  dragged  themselves  from  Nevil' s 
hold,  and  the  spirit  could  be  no  longer  caught  by 
the  voice  of  authority,  but  wandered  where  it 
would. 

The  men  about  him  waited  long  and  vainly 
for  some  turn  of  the  tide.  It  drew  towards  mid 
night,  and  Robin  yet  babbled  of  all  things  under 
the  sun  saving  only  of  a  man  that  had  left  Eng 
land  now  three  years  agone.  At  last  Nevil 

287 


0tr    iiorttm^r 

arose,  spoke  a  few  words  to  Arden,  who  nodded 
assent ;  then,  with  Powell,  moved  to  the  door. 

"When  will  this  friar  return?"  he  asked,  as 
they  crossed  the  threshold. 

"I  do  not  know,"  Powell  answered.  "With 
the  dawn,  perhaps.  He  will  not  be  long  gone." 

"Perhaps  he  will  not  come  at  all,"  said  the 
other.  "  You  say  that  the  boy  is  out  of  danger. 
Perhaps  he  hath  returned  to  the  Indians  whom 
you  say  he  teacheth." 

Powell  shook  his  head.  "  Here  are  too  many 
sick  and  dying,"  he  said,  simply.  "  He  will  come 
back.  I  swear  to  you,  Sir  John  Nevil,  that  in 
this  pestilent  camp  between  the  city  and  the  sea 
we  do  think  of  this  man  not  as  a  Spaniard — if  he 
be  Spaniard — nor  as  monk — if  he  be  monk !  He 
hath  power  over  this  fever,  and  those  whom  he 
cannot  cure  yet  cry  out  for  him  to  help  them  die !' ' 

There  was  a  silence,  followed  by  Sir  John's 
slow  speech.  "  When  he  returns  send  him  at 
once  under  guard  to  my  quarters — I  will  make 
good  the  matter  with  Sir  Francis.  Speak  the 
man  fair,  good  Powell,  give  him  gentle  treat 
ment,  but  see  to  it  that  he  escape  you  not.  .  .  . 
Here  are  my  men.  Good-night." 
288 


Three  hours  later  to  Nevil,  yet  dressed,  yet 

sitting  deep  in  thought  within  his  starlit  chamber, 

came  a  messenger  from  the  captain  of  the  watch. 

"  The  man  whom  Sir  John  Nevil  wot  of  was  be- 

-low.     What  disposition  until  the  morning — " 

"  Bring  him  to  me  here,"  was  the  answer. 
"Stay!  —  there  are  candles  upon  the  table. 
Light  one." 

The  soldier,  drawing  from  his  pouch  flint,  steel, 
and  tinder-box,  obeyed,  then  saluted  and  with 
drew.  There  was  a  short  silence,  followed  by 
the  sound  of  feet  upon  the  stone  stairs  and  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  upon  Nevil' s  "Enter!" 
by  the  appearance  of  a  sergeant  and  several  sol 
diers — in  the  midst  of  them  a  figure  erect,  com 
posed,  gowned,  and  cowled. 

The  one  candle  dimly  lit  the  room.  "Will 
you  stand  aside,  sir?"  said  Nevil  to  his  captive. 
"Now,  sergeant — " 

The  sergeant  made  a  brief  report. 

"  Await,  you  and  your  men,  in  the  hall  below," 
ordered  Nevil.  "You  have  not  bound  your 
prisoner?  That  is  well.  Now  go,  leaving  him 
here  alone." 

The  heavy  door  closed  to.     Upon  the  table 

20  0 

289 


stood  two  great  gilt  candelabra  bearing  many 
candles,  a  fragment  of  the  spoil  of  Cartagena. 
Nevil,  taking  from  its  socket  the  one  lighted 
taper,  began  to  apply  the  flame  to  its  waxen 
fellows.  As  the  chamber  grew  more  and  more 
brilliant,  the  friar,  standing  with  folded  arms, 
made  no  motion  to  break  the  profound  stillness, 
but  with  the  lighting  of  the  last  candle  he  thrust 
far  back  the  cowl  that  partly  hid  his  countenance, 
then  moved  with  an  even  step  to  the  table,  and 
raising  with  both  hands  the  great  candelabrum, 
held  it  aloft.  The  radiance  that  flooded  him, 
showing  every  line  and  lineament,  was  not  more 
silvery  white  than  the  hair  upon  his  head;  but 
brows  and  lashes  were  as  deeply  brown  as  the 
somewhat  sunken  eyes,  nor  was  the  face  an  old 
man's  face.  It  was  lined,  quiet,  beautiful,  with 
lips  somewhat  too  sternly  patient  and  eyes  too 
sad,  for  all  their  kindly  wisdom.  The  friar's 
gown  could  not  disguise  the  form  beneath;  the 
friar's  sleeve,  backf alien  from  the  arm  which 
held  on  high  the  branching  lights,  disclosed  deep 
scars.  .  .  .  Down-streaming  light,  the  hour,  the 
stillness — a  soul  unsteadfast  would  have  shrunk 
as  from  an  apparition.  Nevil  stood  his  ground, 

290 


£>it   Martimer 

the  table  between  him  and  his  guest  of  three 
years'  burial  from  English  ken.  Both  men  were 
pale,  but  their  gaze  did  not  waver.  So  earnestly 
did  they  regard  each  other,  eyes  looking  into 
eyes,  that  without  words  much  knowledge  of 
inner  things  passed  between  them.  At  last, 
"Greet  you  well,  Mortimer  Feme,"  came  from 
one,  and  from  the  other,  "  Greet  you  well,  John 
Nevil." 

The  speaker  lowered  the  candelabrum  and  set 
it  upon  the  table.  "  You  might  have  spared  the 
sergeant  his  pains.  To-day  I  should  have  sought 
you  out." 

"Why  not  before  to-day?" 

"I  have  been  busy,"  said  the  other,  simply. 
"  Long  ago  the  Indians  taught  me  a  sure  remedy 
for  this  fever.  There  was  need  down  yonder  for 
the  cure.  .  .  .  Moreover,  pride  and  I  have  battled 
once  again.  To-night,  in  the  darkness,  by  God's 
grace,  I  won.  ...  It  is  good  to  see  thy  face,  to 
hear  thy  voice,  John  Nevil." 

The  tall  tapers  gave  so  great  and  clear  a  light 
that  there  was  no  shadow  for  either  countenance. 
In  Nevil' s  agitation  had  begun  to  gather,  but  his 
opposite  showed  as  yet  only  a  certain  worn  maj- 

291 


esty  of  peace.  Neither  man  had  moved;  each 
stood  erect,  with  the  heavy  wood  like  a  judg 
ment  bar  between  them.  Perhaps  some  noise 
among  the  soldiers  below,  some  memory  that  the 
other  had  entered  the  room  as  a  prisoner,  brought 
such  a  fancy  to  N evil's  mind,  for  now  he  hastily 
left  his  position  and  crossed  to  the  bench  be 
neath  the  wide  window^.  The  man  from  the 
grave  of  the  South- American  forest  followed. 
Sir  John  stretched  out  his  hand  and  touched  the 
heavy  woollen  robe  that  swept  from  bared  throat 
to  rudely  sandalled  feet. 

"This?"  he  questioned. 

The  other  faintly  smiled.  "  I  found  it  many 
months  agone  in  a  village  of  the  Chaymas.  I 
was  nigh  to  nakedness,  and  it  has  served  me 
well.  It  is  only  a  gown.  This" — he  touched 
the  knotted  girdle — "but  a  piece  of  rope." 

"  I  have  seen  the  boy,  Robin-a-dale,"  said 
Nevil. 

The  other  inclined  his  head.  "  Captain  Pow 
ell  told  me  as  much  an  hour  ago,  and  also  that 
by  some  slip  my  poor  knave  slept  not,  as  I  had 
meant  he  should,  but  babbled  of  old  things 
which  have  wellnigh  turned  his  wits.  He  must 

292 


g>ir 

not  stay  in  this  land,  but  back  to  England  to  feel 
the  snow  in  his  face,  to  hear  the  cuckoo  and  the 
lark,  to  serve  you  or  Arden  or  Philip  Sidney. 
What  ancient  news  hath  he  given  you?" 

"  You  went  overland  to  Panama." 

"Ay, —  a  dreadful  journey — a  most  dreadful 
return.  .  .  .  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola  was  not  at 
Panama.  With  a  strong  escort  he  had  gone 
three  days  before  to  San  Juan  de  Ulloa,  whence 
he  sailed  for  Spain." 

A  long  silence;  then  said  Nevil:  "There  is  no 
passion  in  your  face,  and  your  voice  is  grave  and 
sweet.  I  thank  God  that  he  was  gone,  and  that 
your  soul  has  turned  from  vengeance." 

"Ay,  my  soul  hath  turned  from  vengeance," 
echoed  the  other.  "It  is  now  a  long  time  that, 
save  for  Robin,  I  have  dwelt  alone  with  God  His 
beauty  and  God  His  terror.  I  have  taught  a 
savage  people,  and  in  teaching  I  have  learned." 
He  moved,  and  with  his  knee  upon  the  window- 
seat,  looked  out  upon  the  fading  stars.  "But 
the  blood,"  he  said, — "  the  blood  upon  my  hands ! 
I  know  not  if  one  man  who  sailed  with  me  upon 
the  Sea  Wraith  be  alive.  Certes,  all  are  dead 
who  went  with  me  a  fearful  way  to  find  that 

293 


Spaniard  who  is  safe  in  Spain.  Six  men  we 
reached  again  the  seashore,  but  the  ship  was 
gone.  One  by  one,  as  we  wandered,  the  four 
men  died.  .  .  .  Then  Robin  and  I  went  upward 
and  onward  to  the  mountains." 

"  When  you  left  England  your  cause  was  just," 
said  Nevil,  with  emotion. 

"Ay,  I  think  it  was  so,"  Sir  Mortimer  replied. 
"At  home  I  was  forever  naught;  on  these  seas  I 
might  yet  serve  my  Queen,  though  with  a  shrunk 
en  arm.  And  Robert  Baldry  with  many  an 
other  whom  I  had  betrayed  might  yet  languish 
in  miserable  life.  God  knows !  perhaps  I  thought 
that  God  might  work  a  miracle.  .  .  .  But  at  Mar 
garita— 

"  I  know — I  know,"  interrupted  Nevil.  "  Rob 
in  told  us." 

"Then  at  Margarita,"  continued  the  other,  "  I 
forgot  all  else  but  my  revenge  upon  the  man  who 
had  wrought  disaster  to  my  soul,  who  had  dashed 
from  my  hand  even  that  poor  salve  which  might 
and  might  not  have  somewhat  eased  my  mortal 
wound.  Was  he  at  Panama?  Then  to  Panama 
would  I  go.  In  Ultima  Thule?  Then  in  Ul 
tima  Thule  he  should  not  escape  me.  ...  I  bent 

294 


H>tr    fHnrtimrr 

the  mariners  and  soldiers  of  the  Sea  Wraith 
to  my  will.  I  promised  them  gold ;  I  promised 
them  joyous  life  and  an  easy  task — I  know  not 
what  I  promised  them,  for  my  heart  was  a  hot 
coal  within  my  breast,  and  there  seemed  no  de 
sirable  thing  under  the  sun  other  than  a  short 
ened  sw^ord  and  my  hand  upon  the  throat  of  Don 
Luiz  de  Guardiola.  They  went  with  me  upon 
my  private  quarrel,  and  they  died.  Ah,  well! 
It  has  been  long  ago!"  His  breath  came  in  a 
heavy  sigh.  "  I  am  not  now  so  keen  a  hunter 
for  my  own.  In  God's  hands  is  justice  as  well  as 
mercy,  and  when  death  throws  down  the  warder 
I  shall  understand.  In  the  mean  while  I  await 
—I  that  speak  to  you  now  and  I  that  betrayed 
you  four  years  agone." 

He  turned  from  the  window,  and  the  twro  again 
stood  face  to  face. 

"  I  am  a  child  at  school,"  said  Feme.  "  There 
was  a  time  when  I  thought  to  keep  for  bed-fellow 
pride  as  well  as  shame ;  when  I  said, '  I  am  cow 
ard,  I  am  traitor,'  and  put  to  my  lips  the  cup  of 
gall,  but  yet  I  drank  it  not  with  humility  and  a 
bowed  heart.  ...  I  do  not  think,  John,  that  I 
ever  asked  you  to  forgive  me.  .  .  .  Forgive  me!" 
295 


On  the  part  of  each  man  there  was  an  invol 
untary  movement,  ending  in  a  long  and  mute 
embrace.  Each  touched  with  his  lips  the  other's 
cheek,  then  they  sat  with  clasped  hands  in  elo 
quent  silence,  while  the  candles  paled  in  the  ap 
proaching  dawn.  At  last  Sir  Mortimer  spoke: 

"  You  will  let  me  go  now,  John?  There  are 
many  sick  men  down  by  the  sea,  and  Robin 
will  grow  restless — perhaps  will  call  my  name 
aloud." 

Arising  from  the  window-seat,  Nevil  paced 
the  room,  then  returned  to  the  sometime  Cap 
tain  of  the  Cygnet.  "Two  things  and  I  will  let 
you  go  where  you  do  the  Queen  and  Francis 
Drake  yeoman  service.  You  will  not  slip  a  silken 
leash,  but  will  abide  with  us  in  this  town?" 

"Ay,"  was  the  answer,  "until  your  sick  are 
recovered  and  your  mariners  are  making  sail  I 
will  stay." 

Nevil  hesitated.  "For  the  present  I  accept 
your  'until.'  And  now  I  ask  you  to  throw  off 
this  disguise.  We  are  men  of  a  like  height  and 
make.  Yonder  within  the  chamber  are  suits 
from  which  you  may  choose.  Pray  you  dress  at 


once." 


296 


A  faint  red  swept  into  the  other's  countenance. 
"  If  I  do  as  you  bid,  I  may  not  go  unrecognized. 
I  say  not,  '  Spare  me  this,  John  Nevil !'  I  only 
ask,  'Is  it  wise?'  ...  Sir  Francis  Drake  is  com 
mander  here.  Four  years  ago  he  swore  that 
you  were  too  merciful,  that  in  your  place  he 
would  have  played  hangsman  to  me  more  blithe 
ly  than  he  played  headsman  to  Thomas  Dough- 
ty." 

"I  sail  not  under  Francis  Drake,"  Nevil  an 
swered.  "  Meeting  me  with  two  goodly  ships  at 
the  Terceiras,  he  was  fain  enough  to  have  me 
join  my  force  to  his.  Over  my  own  I  hold  com 
mand,  and  I  shall  claim  you  as  my  own.  But 
you  have  no  fear  of  Francis  Drake!  Is  it  your 
thought  that  your  shield  is  forever  reversed,  and 
that  you  are  only  welcome,  only  unashamed, 
yonder  wiiere  sickness  stretches  forth  its  hands, 
and  Death  gives  back  before  you?  If  it  is  so, 
yet  be  that  which  you  are! — No  Spanish  friar, 
but  English  knight  and  gentleman.  If  it  be 
known  to  high  and  low  that  once  you  fell,  then 
face  that  knowledge  with  humility  of  heart,  with 
simplicity,  but  with  the  outward  ease  and  bear 
ing  of  that  estate  in  which  God  placed  you. 

297 


This  garb  becomes  you  not,  who  are  yet  a  soldier 
of  England.  A  way  with  it! — then  in  singleness 
of  mind  press  onward  along  thy  rocky  road  until 
God  calls  thee  at  last  to  His  green  meadows,  to 
His  high  city.  Ah,  my  friend !  I  give  but  poor 
and  meagre  words  to  that  I  read  within  thy  eyes. 
There  is  no  need  for  me  to  speak  at  all  when  thy 
lit  soul  looks  out  upon  me!" 

The  dawn  began  to  show  faint  splendors,  and 
the  winds  of  morning  drove  aslant  the  candle 
flames.  Feme  shook  his  head  and  his  counte 
nance  darkened  somewhat  with  vain  regrets  and 
sharp  memories  of  old  agonies.  "  Not  that,  my 
friend !  I  am  changed,  but  God  knows — not  I — 
what  other  change  would  come  did  He  lift  His 
rod.  Once  I  thought  I  knew  all  right  from  all 
wrong,  all  darkness  from  all  light — yea,  and  I 
strove  to  practise  that  knowledge.  ...  I  think 
now  that  to  every  man  may  come  an  hour  when 
pride  and  assurance  go  down — when  for  ever 
more  he  hath  that  wisdom  that  he  no  longer 
knows  himself."  He  smiled.  "But  I  will  do 
what  you  ask,  John.  It  were  strange,  were  it 
not,  if  I  refused  you  this?"  As  he  passed  Nevil, 
the  two  touched  hands  again.  Another  mo- 

298 


ls>tr    ifioriimrr 

ment  and  the  door  of  the  inner  room  closed  upon 
him.  Sir  John,  awaiting  his  return,  began  to 
quench  the  candles  one  by  one,  for  there  was  no 
need  of  other  light  than  the  flooding  dawn. 

Some  minutes  had  passed,  when  a  knock  at 
the  outward  door  interrupted  his  employment. 
Crossing  the  floor,  he  opened  to  Sir  Francis 
Drake,  who  stood  alone  upon  the  threshold,  his 
escort  trampling  down  the  stone  stairs  to  the 
hall  beneath.  Nevil  uttered  an  exclamation, 
which  the  other  met  with  his  bluff,  short  laugh. 

"So  you  as  wrell  as  I  have  let  the  jade  Sleep 
slip  by  this  night!"  He  brushed  past  Nevil  into 
the  room.  "  I  gave  it  up  an  hour  agone,  and  am 
come  to  take  counsel  before  breakfast.  At  the 
nooning  Carlisle  and  Cecil  will  bring  me  the  opin 
ions  of  the  captains,  land  and  sea.  I  know  al 
ready  their  conclusion  and  my  answer.  But  I 
deny  not  that  'twill  be  a  bitter  draught."  He 
did  not  take  the  great  chair  which  Nevil  indi 
cated,  but  kept  on  to  the  window,  wrhere  with  a 
sound,  half  sigh,  half  oath,  he  flung  himself  down 
upon  the  broad  seat. 

"  I'  faith,  John  Nevil,  I  know  not  why  I  am 
here,  seeing  that  your  counsel  has  been  given  us, 

299 


unless  it  be  that  you  have  more  wisdom  than 
most,  and  may  somewhat  sweeten  this  course 
which,  mark  you !  I  stand  ready  to  take,  or  sweet 
or  bitter,  if  thereby  the  Queen  is  best  served.  .  .  . 
The  officer  whom  this  Governor  sent  out  days 
ago  in  search  of  these  wealthy  fugitives  from  the 
town — these  rich  people  who  starve  on  gold  and 
silver  dishes — hath  returned  with  some  report 
or  other  as  to  the  treasure.  What  think  you  if 
at  this  coming  feast — ' 

Said  Nevil  abruptly :  "  Let  us  not  speak  of  such 
matters  here,  Frank !  I  am  fully  dressed ;  let  us 
go  into  the  air!" 

Drake  stared.  "And  be  observed  of  all  that 
we  hold  counsel  together!  What's  wrong  with 
the  room?"  Glancing  narrowly  from  wall  to 
wall,  he  came  suddenly  to  a  realization  of  the 
presence  of  a  third  person — a  stranger,  dressed 
in  some  dark,  rich  stuff,  who  stood  with  folded 
,.  arms  against  the  door  which  he  had  closed  be 
hind  him.  Distinction  of  form,  distinction  of 
the  quiet  face,  distinction  of  white  hair,  so  incon 
gruous  and  yet,  strangely  enough,  the  last  and 
stateliest  touch  of  all — after  a  moment  of  startled 
scrutiny  Drake  leaned  forward,  keen  eyes  be- 

300 


g>ir   fHortimer 

neath  shaggy  brows,  one  hand  tugging  at  his 
beard.     "Who  are  you,  sir?"  he  asked. 

Nevil  interposed.  "He  is  under  my  com 
mand — a  volunteer  for  whom  I  alone  am  respon 
sible." 

The  figure  against  the  door  advanced  a  pace 
or  two.  "  I  am  Mortimer  Feme,  Sir  Francis 
Drake." 

There  was  a  pause,  while  Drake,  staring  as  at 
one  just  risen  from  the  dead,  got  slowly  to  his 
feet. 

"Long  ago,"  continued  the  apparition,  "we 
had  some  slight  acquaintance — but  now  'tis  nat 
ural  that  you  know  me  not.  ...  I  pray  you  to  be 
lieve  me  that  until  you  drew  near  the  window  I 
thought  Sir  John  Nevil  alone  in  the  room ;  more 
over,  that  I  have  heard  no  word  of  counsel,  sav 
ing  only  the  word  itself." 

"  I  hear  you,  sir,"  answered  Drake,  icily. 
"Fair  words  and  smooth — oh,  very  courtier-like 
words!  Oh,  your  very  good  assurance! — but  T 
choose  my  own  assurance,  which  dwells  in  the 
fact  that  naught  has  been  said  to  which  the  Span 
iard  is  not  welcome!" 

Nevil  drew  in  his  breath  with  a  grieved,  im- 
3Qi 


patient  sigh,  but  Sir  Mortimer  stood  motionless, 
nor  seemed  to  care  to  find  answering  words. 
The  blood  had  mounted  to  his  brow,  but  the 
eyes  which  gazed  past  the  speaker  into  the 
magnificent  heart  of  the  dawn  wrere  very  clear, 
very  patient.  Moments  passed  while  Drake,  the 
great  sea-captain,  sat,  striking  his  booted  foot 
upon  the  floor,  looking  from  Nevil,  who  had  re 
gained  his  usual  calm,  to  the  man  with  whom 
oblivion  had  no  more  to  do.  Suddenly  he 
spoke : 

"You  are  he  who  in  the  guise  of  a  Spanish 
friar  hath  nursed  our  sick?  Give  you  thanks! 
.  .  .  Which  of  your  ships,  John  Nevil,  do  you 
make  over  to  this — this  gentleman?" 

Nevil,  drawing  himself  up,  would  have  an 
swered  with  haughtiness,  but  with  a  quick  gest 
ure  of  entreaty  Feme  himself  took  the  word. 

"  Sir  Francis  Drake — Sir  John  Nevil,"  he  said, 
"  I  pray  that,  because  of  me,  you  come  not  to 
cold  words  and  looks  which  sort  not  with  your 
noble  friendship !  I  shall  never  again,  Sir  Fran 
cis  Drake,  command  any  ship  whatsoever,  hold 
any  office,  be  other  than  I  am, — a  man  so  broken, 
so  holpen  by  Almighty  God,  that  he  needs  not 

302 


earthly  praise  or  blame.  ...  I  have  a  servant  ill 
within  the  camp  who  will  fret  at  my  absence. 
Wilt  let  me  begone,  John? — but  you  must  first 
explain  to  the  sergeant  this  my  transformation. 
Sir  Francis  Drake,  so  long  as  you  tarry  in  Car 
tagena  I  submit  myself  to  what  restriction,  what 
surveillance,  upon  which  you  and  my  former 
Admiral  may  determine." 

"  I  will  let  you  go  but  for  a  time,"  Nevil  an 
swered,  firmly.  "  Later,  I  shall  send  for  you  and 
Robin  to  some  fitter  lodging."  He  turned  to 
Drake.  "  Frank — Frank  Drake,  I  but  give  again 
to  all  our  sick  the  man  to  wThom,  under  God,  is 
owed  this  abatement  of  the  fever.  I  pray  you 
to  await  me  here  while  I  myself  deliver  him  to 
the  sergeant  below.  It  is  necessary,  for  he  en 
tered  this  room  in  disguise,  who  goes  forth  clad 
again  as  an  English  gentleman.  Then  will  I  tell 
you  a  story  which  I  think  that,  four  years  agone, 
may  have  been  given  you  rather  by  a  man's  foes 
than  by  his  friends — and  another  story  of  deep 
repentance  and  of  God's  path,  which  is  not  our 
path; — and  Francis  Drake  hath  indeed  changed 
overnight  if  he  make  of  this  a  quarrel  between 
him  and  John  Nevil,  or  if  he  be  not  generously 

303 


moved  towards  this  gentleman  whom  I  count  as 
my  friend  and  follower!" 

"I  will  wait,"  said  Drake,  after  a  pause. 
''Give  you  good-day,  sir.  Your  service  to  our 
sick  is  known,  and  for  it  our  thanks  are  due.  At 
the  present  I  can  say  no  more." 

Feme  bowed  in  silence,  then,  with  Nevil,  left 
the  room  for  the  hall  below,  where  the  startled 
sergeant  and  his  men  saluted  indeed  Sir  John 
Nevil,  but  kept  their  eyes  upon  the  figure  at  his 
side. 

Nevil,  beckoning  to  the  sergeant,  drew  off  a 
few  paces  and  gave  in  a  lowered  voice  instruc 
tions  to  be  borne  to  Captain  Powell.  Then  the 
one  knight  mounted  to  the  room  where  Drake 
awaited  him,  and  the  other  went,  guarded, 
through  the  tropic  morn  to  the  fevered  and  the 
restless,  who  yearned  for  him  as  the  sick  may 
yearn,  and  to  the  hut  where  Arden  strove  to  re 
strain  Robin-a-dale's  cries  for  his  master. 


XII 


'URING  the  afternoon  came  an 
order  to  Captain  Powell  that 
the  sick  youth  should  be  taken 
to  Sir  Mortimer  Feme's  apart 
ment  in  the  house  where  lodged 
Master  Arden.  Thus  it  was  that  in  the  cooler 
air  before  sunset  a  litter  was  borne  through  the 
streets  of  Cartagena.  In  addition  to  the  bearers 
and  some  other  slight  attendance  there  walked 
with  it  Sir  John  Nevil  and  Captain  Powell,  Giles 
Arden  and  Sir  Mortimer  Feme.  Sometimes  the 
latter  laid  his  hand  upon  the  youth's  burning 
forehead,  sometimes  upon  the  lips  which  would 
have  babbled  overmuch.  Bearers  and  escort 
stared  and  stared.  One  who  had  been  about  the 
spital,  and  had  seen  a  brother  brought  from 
under  the  shadow  of  death,  repeatedly  stumbled 
because  he  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  friar 
become  English  gentleman — become  friend  of  so 
great  a  gentleman  as  Sir  John  Nevil. 

3°S 


The  little  procession  turned  one  corner,  then 
another.  Sir  Mortimer  touched  Nevil's  arm. 
"  There's  a  shorter  way — down  this  narrow  street 
we  are  passing." 

"  Ay,"  Nevil  answered;  "but  let  us  go  by  the 
way  of  the  market-place." 

His  thought  was  that  none  too  soon  could  oc 
cur  general  recognition  that  Sir  Mortimer  Feme 
dwelt  in  the  English  camp  and  walked  with  Eng 
lish  leaders.  The  square,  as  it  proved,  was  no 
desert.  The  hour  was  one  of  some  relaxation, 
relief  from  the  sun,  and  from  the  iron  discipline 
of  Drake,  who,  for  the  most  part  of  the  day, 
created  posts  and  kept  men  at  them.  Carlisle 
was  there  seated  in  the  shade  of  a  giant  palm, 
watching  the  drilling  of  a  yet  weak  and  stagger 
ing  company  whose  very  memory  that  burning 
calenture  had  enfeebled.  At  one  side  of  the 
place,  which  was  not  large,  others  were  examining 
a  great  heap  of  booty,  the  grosser  spoils  of  rich 
men's  houses,  furniture  of  precious  woods,  gilt 
and  inlaid  cabinets,  chests  of  costly  apparel, 
armor,  weapons,  trappings  of  horses, — all  await 
ing  under  guard  assortment  and  division.  In 
the  centre  of  the  square  a  score  or  more  of  ad- 

306 


venturers  were  gathered  about  the  wide  steps  of 
a  great  stone  market-cross,  while  from  a  point 
opposite  to  the  street  by  which  the  party  from 
the  hospital  must  make  entry  advanced  with 
some  clanking  of  steel,  talking,  and  sturdy 
laughter  no  lesser  men  than  Francis  Drake  and 
some  of  his  chief est  captains.  Carlisle  left  watch 
ing  the  drilling  and  walked  over  to  them.  The 
adventurers  lounging  below  the  cross  sprang  up  to 
greet  their  Admiral.  A  sudden  puff  of  evening 
wind  lifted  Drake's  red  cap,  and  bearing  it  across 
to  a  small  battery  where  a  gunner  and  his  mates 
examined  a  line  of  Spanish  ordnance,  placed  it 
neatly  over  the  muzzle  of  the  smallest  gun. 
Frank  laughter  arose;  the  gunner,  with  the  red 
cap  pressed  against  his  hairy  breast,  and  grin 
ning  with  pleasure  at  his  service,  came  at  a  run 
to  restore  to  the  great  Sir  Francis  his  property. 
Drake,  whom  the  mere  soldier  and  mariner  idol 
ized,  found  for  the  gunner  both  a  peso  of  silver 
and  jesting  thanks;  then,  when  he  had  donned 
the  cap,  turned  and  loudly  called  to  the  passing 
company.  "  Come  over  to  us,  John  Nevil,"  cried 
the  sea-king.  "  No,  no,  let  us  have  your  compan 
ions  also,  and  that  sick  youth  we  have  heard  of" 

307 


"You  do  not  understand,"  muttered  Feme, 
hastily,  to  Nevil.  "This  place  likes  me  not. 
Go  you  and  Arden — " 

Sir  John  shook  his  head.  Alone  with  Drake 
that  morning,  he  had  told  in  its  completeness 
the  story  that  in  many  details  was  strange  to 
him  who  was  seldom  in  England,  seldomer  at 
court,  and  who  had  heard  the  story  in  a  form 
which  left  scant  room  for  pity  or  any  dream  of 
absolution.  Once  and  again  the  great  sea-cap 
tain  had  softly  sworn  to  himself,  and  at  the  end 
Nevil  had  gone  forth  satisfied.  Now  he  saw 
that  Drake  must  have  timed  this  meeting  in  the 
square,  and  with  a  smile  he  ignored  the  entreaty 
in  the  eyes  of  the  man  who,  if  his  friend,  was  also 
his  captive.  He  motioned  to  the  bearers,  and 
presently  the  company  about  the  market-cross 
was  enlarged. 

Drake,  after  his  hearty  fashion,  clapped  his 
arm  about  Sir  John's  shoulder,  calling  him  "  dear 
Nevil."  Arden,  with  whom  he  had  slighter  ac 
quaintance,  he  also  greeted,  while  Powell  was  his 
"good  Powell,  his  trusty  Anthony."  There  was 
a  slight  shifting  in  the  smaller  group,  Nevil  by 
a  backward  step  or  two  bringing  into  line  the 

308 


man  who  stood  beside  the  litter.  Drake  turned. 
"Give  you  godden,  Sir  Mortimer  Feme!  Our 
hearty  thanks,  moreover,  for  the  good  service 
you  have  done  us." 

He  spoke  loudly,  that  all  might  hear.  If  be 
neath  the  bluff  good-fellowship  of  word  and  voice 
there  was  any  undercurrent  of  coldness  or  mis- 
liking,  only  one  or  two,  besides  the  man  who 
bowed  to  him  in  silence,  might  guess  it.  By 
now  every  man  about  the  market-cross  was  at 
attention.  Rumors  had  been  rife  that  day. 
Neither  at  home  in  England  nor  here  in  Spanish 
dominions  was  there  English  soldier  or  sailor 
who  knew  not  name  and  record  of  Sir  Mor 
timer  Feme.  Among  the  adventurers  about 
the  market -cross  were  not  lacking  men  who 
in  old  days  had  viewed,  admired,  envied,  and, 
for  final  tribute,  contemned  him.  These  broke 
ranks,  pressing  as  closely  as  was  mannerly  tow 
ards  the  group  about  the  litter.  All  gaped 
at  Drake's  words  of  amity,  at  Sir  John  Nevil's 
grave  smile,  and  Carlisle's  friendly  face,  but 
most  of  all  at  that  one  who  had  been  the  peer 
of  great  captains,  but  who  now  stood  amongst 
them  undetached,  ghost  -  like,  a  visitant  from 

3°9 


the  drear  world  of  the  dishonored  dead.  The 
palm-trees  edging  the  square  began  to  wave 
and  rustle  in  the  wind;  the  youth  upon  the 
litter  moved  restlessly,  uttering  moaning  and 
incomprehensible  words.  Drake  was  speaking 
to  Arden  and  others  of  the  gentlemen  advent 
urers. 

'*  What  ails  you?"  murmured  Nevil,  at  Feme's 
ear.  "  There  is  sweat  upon  your  forehead,  and 
you  hold  yourself  as  rigid  as  the  dead.  Your 
touch  is  icy  cold." 

"  I  burn,"  answered  the  other,  in  as  low  a  tone. 
"Let  us  go  hence." 

Nevil  motioned  to  the  bearers,  who  raised  the 
litter  and  began  again  their  progress  across  the 
square.  Drake  turned  from  those  to  whom  he 
had  been  speaking.  "Will  ye  be  going?  You 
shall  sup  with  us  to-night,  John  Nevil!  Master 
Arden,  I  do  desire  your  better  acquaintance. 
Captain  Powell,  you  will  stay  with  me  who  have 
some  words  for  your  ear.  Sir  Mortimer  Feme, 
I  trust  you  will  recover  your  servant,  as  you 
have  recovered  so  many  of  our  poor  fellows" — 
his  voice  dropped  until  it  was  audible  only  to 
the  three  or  four  who  made  his  immediate  cir- 

310 


g>tr    f&artimtt 

cle, — "as  you  have  wellnigh  recovered  your 
self." 

Generous  as  he  was,  he  had  not  meant  to  go  so 
far.  He  had  yet  his  doubts,  his  reversions,  in 
mind,  to  those  sheer  facts  which  none  denied. 
This  was  a  recreant  knight — but  also  a  man  who 
had  suffered  long  and  greatly,  who,  if  eye  and  in 
tuition  could  be  trusted,  suffered  now.  He  hes 
itated  a  moment,  then  abruptly  held  out  his 
hand. 

All  saw  the  gesture,  and  a  sudden  hush  fell 
upon  the  company.  If  these  two  touched  hands, 
then  in  that  moment  would  be  spanned  the  dis 
tance  between  the  star  in  the  ascendant  and  the 
wavering  marsh-light,  between  the  sea-colossus 
and  his  one-time  rival,  now  so  long  overwhelmed 
and  chained  to  sterile  earth. 

In  the  short  silence  the  wind  seemed  to  take 
with  a  rushing  sound  the  palm  tops  overhead. 
Then  Feme  spoke.  "  With  all  my  heart  I  thank 
you,"  he  said.  "  I  may  not  take  your  hand  until 
you  know" — he  raised  his  voice  so  that  all  who 
chose  might  hear — "until  you  know  that  here 
where  I  stand,  here  before  this  cross,  died  in  the 
torment  of  fire  that  Captain  Robert  Baldry  who 

311 


JHnrttttur 

was  my  pnvate  foe,  who  lay  beneath  my  chal 
lenge,  whom  I  betrayed  to  his  agony  and  to  his 
martyr's  death.  .  .  .  Ah!  I  will  hold  you  excused, 
Sir  Francis  Drake!" 

With  the  deep  exclamation,  the  involuntary 
recoil,  that  followed  on  the  heels  of  such  an  avow 
al,  there  appeared  to  descend  upon  the  place  a 
dark  shadow,  a  veritable  pall,  a  faint  murk  of 
driven  smoke,  through  which  men  saw,  to-day, 
the  spectacle  of  nigh  four  years  agone.  .  .  .  The 
silence  was  broken,  the  spell  dissolved,  by  Robin- 
a-dale's  feeble  cry  from  the  litter:  "  Master,  mas 
ter;  come  with  me,  master!" 

Drake,  who,  with  a  quick  intake  of  his  breath, 
had  drawn  sharply  back,  was  the  first  to  recover. 
He  sent  his  lightning  glance  from  the  frowning, 
the  deeply  flushed  and  horror-stricken,  counte 
nances  about  him  to  the  man  whose  worn  cheek 
showed  no  color,  whose  lips  were  locked,  whose 
eyes  were  steadfast,  though  a  little  lifted  to  the 
blue  sky  above  the  cross.  "  Now  death  of  my 
life!"  swore  the  sea-king.  "The  knave  did  well 
to  call  you  '  Master.'  Whatever  there  may  have 
been,  here  is  now  no  coward!"  He  turned  to 
the  staring,  whispering  throng.  "Gentlemen, 

312 


we  will  remove  from  this  space,  which  was  the 
death-bed  of  a  brave  man  and  a  true  martyr. 
This  done,  each  man  of  you  will  go  soberly  about 
his  business,  remembering  that  God's  dealings 
are  not  those  of  men; — remembering  also  that 
this  gentleman  is  under  my  protection."  Doff 
ing  his  red  cap,  he  stepped  slowly  backward  out 
of  the  wide  ring  about  the  market-cross.  His 
example  was  followed  by  all ;  a  few  moments  and 
the  last  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  lay  only  upon 
bare  stone  and  earth. 

Some  hours  later,  Robin-a-dale  asleep  in  the 
bed,  and  his  master  keeping  motionless  watch  at 
the  window,  Arden  entered  the  room  which  had 
been  assigned  to  Sir  Mortimer  Feme,  and  cross 
ing  the  floor,  sat  himself  down  beside  his  friend. 
Presently  Feme  put  forth  his  hand,  and  the 
two  sat  with  interlacing  fingers,  looking  out  upon 
the  great  constellations.  Arden  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  Dost  remember  how,  when  we  were  boys  at 
school,  and  the  curfew  long  rung,  we  yet  knelt 
at  our  window  and  saw  the  stars  come  up  over 
the  moorland?  Thou  wert  the  poet  and  teller  of 
tales — ah!  thy  paladins  and  paynims  and  ladies 

3*3 


enchanted ! — while  I  listened,  bewitched  as  they, 
but  with  an  ear  for  the  master's  tread.  It  was 
a  fearful  joy!" 

"I  remember,"  said  the  other.  "It  was  a 
trick  of  mine  which  too  often  brought  the  cane 
across  our  shoulders." 

"Not  mine,"  quoth  Arden.  "You  always 
begged  me  off.  I  was  the  smallest — you  waked 
me — made  me  listen,  forsooth!  .  .  .  Welladay! 
Old  times  seem  near  to-night!" 

"Old  times!"  repeated  the  other.     "Pictures 

that  creep  beneath  the  shut  eyelid ! — frail  sounds 

.   that  outcry  the  storm! — Shame's  most  delicate, 

most  exquisite  goad !  .  .  .  You  cannot  know  how 

strange  this  day  has  been  to  me." 

"  You  cannot  know  how  glad  this  day  has  been 
to  me,"  replied  Arden,  with  a  break  in  his  voice. 
"  Do  you  remember,  Mortimer,  that  I  would  have 
sailed  with  you  in  the  Sea  Wraith?" 

"  I  forget  nothing,"  said  the  other.  "  I  think 
that  I  reviled  you  then.  .  .  .  See  how  far  hath 
swung  my  needle!"  He  lifted  his  school  -  fel 
low's  hand  to  his  cheek  in  a  long,  mute  caress, 
then  laying  it  down.  "  There  is  one  at  home  of 
whose  welfare  I  would  learn.  She  is  not  dead,  I 


know.  Her  brother  comes  to  me  in  my  dreams 
with  all  the  rest — with  all  the  rest, — but  she 
comes  not.  Speak  to  me  of  Mistress  Damaris 
Sedley." 

A  short  pause;  then,  "She  is  the  fairest  and 
the  loveliest,"  said  Arden.  "Her  beauty  is  a 
fadeless  flower,  but  her  eyes  hold  a  history  it 
\vere  hard  to  read  without  a  clue.  One  only 
knows  the  tale  is  tragical.  She  is  most  gentle, 
sweet,  and  debonair.  The  thorns  of  Fortune's 
giving  she  has  twisted  into  a  crown,  and  she 
wears  it  royally.  I  saw  her  at  Wilton  six  months 
ago." 

"At  Wilton!    With  the  Queen?" 

"No;  she  left  the  court  long  ago.  You  and 
the  Sea  Wraith  were  scarce  a  month  gone  when 
that  grim  old  knight,  her  guardian,  would  have 
made  for  her  a  marriage  with  some  spendthrift 
sprig  of  more  wealth  than  wit.  But  Sidney, 
working  through  Walsingham  and  his  uncle 
Leicester,  and  most  of  all  through  his  own  golden 
speech,  got  from  the  Queen  consent  to  the  lady's 
retirement  from  the  court,  and  so  greatly  dis 
liked  a  marriage.  With  a  very  noble  retinue  he 
brought  her  to  his  sister  at  Wilton,  where,  with 


that  most  noble  countess,  she  abides  in  sanct 
uary.  When  you  take  her  hence — 

Sir  Mortimer  laughed.  "When  I  take  the 
rainbow  from  the  sky — when  I  leap  to  meet  the 
moon  and  find  the  silver  damsel  in  my  arms  in 
deed — when  yonder  sea  hath  washed  away  all 
the  blood  of  the  earth — when  I  find  Ponce  de 
Leon's  spring  and  speak  to  the  nymph  therein: 
*  Now  free  me  from  this  year,  and  this,  and  this, 
and  this!  Make  me  the  man  that  once  I  was!' 
Then  I  will  go  a  pilgrimage  to  Wilton." 

He  rose  and  paced  the  room  once  or  twice, 
then  came  back  to  Arden  at  the  window.  "  Old 
school-fellow,  we  are  not  boys  now.  There  be  no 
enchanters;  and  the  giant  hugs  himself  in  his 
tower,  nor  will  come  forth  at  any  challenge ;  and 
the  dragon  hath  so  shrunken  that  he  shows  no 
larger  than  a  man's  self ; — all  illusion's  down ! .  .  . 
I  thank  thee  for  thy  news  of  a  lady  whom  I  love. 
I  am  full  glad  to  know  that  she  is  in  health  and 
safety,  among  old  friends,  honored,  beloved, 
fairer  than  the  fairest — '  His  voice  shook,  and 
for  the  moment  he  bowed  his  face  within  his 
hands,  but  repression  came  immediately  to  his 
command.  He  raised  his  head  and  began  again 

316 


g>tr 

with  a  quiet  voice,  "  I  will  write  to  her  a  letter, 
and  you  will  be  its  bearer — will  you  not,  old 
friend  ?  riding  with  it  by  the  green  fields  and  the 
English  oaks  to  noble  Wilton— 

"And  where,  when  the  ships  have  brought  us 
home,  do  you  go,  Mortimer?" 

"  To  the  Low  Countries.  Seeing  that  I  go  as  a 
private  soldier,  John  Nevil  may  easily  gain  me 
leave.  And  thou,  Giles,  I  know,  wilt  give  me 
money  with  which  I  may  arm  me  and  may  cross 
to  the  English  camp.  I  am  glad  that  Philip 
Sidney  becomes  my  general.  Although  I  fight 
afoot,  in  the  long  trenches  or  with  the  pike- 
men  and  the  harquebusiers,  yet  may  I  joy  to 
look  upon  him,  flashing  past,  all  gilded  like  St. 
George,  with  the  great  banner  flying,  leading  the 
wild  charge — the  shouts  of  his  horsemen  behind 
him—" 

Arden  sprang  to  his  feet,  pushed  the  heavy 
settle  aside,  and  with  a  somewhat  disordered 
step  went  to  the  bed  where  lay  Robin-a-dale. 
"He  will  recover?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice,  as 
Feme  came  to  his  side. 

"Ay,  I  think  so,"  answered  the  other.  "He 
will  sleep  throughout  the  night,  and  the  morn 


should  find  him  stronger,  more  clear  in  mind. 
...  I  am  going  now  to  the  spital — no,  no ;  I  need 
no  rest,  and  I  have  leave  to  come  and  go." 

The  two  descended  together  to  the  door  of  the 
great  hall,  whence  Feme  went  his  solitary  way, 
and  Arden  stood  to  watch  him  out  of  sight.  As 
the  latter  turned  to  re-enter  the  house,  he  was 
aware  of  a  small  band  of  men,  English  and  Span 
ish,  proceeding  from  Drake's  lodging  towards  the 
citadel,  which,  robbed  of  all  ordnance  and  partly 
demolished,  yet  sheltered  the  Governor,  his  offi 
cers,  and  sundry  Spanish  gentlemen.  To-day 
the  envoy  from  the  wealthy  fugitives  and  own 
ers  of  buried  gold  had  returned,  and,  evidently, 
to-night  Drake  and  the  Spanish  commissioners 
had  again  discussed  the  matter  of  ransom. 

Arden,  within  the  shadow,  watched  the  little 
torchlit  company  of  English  soldiery  and  Span 
ish  officials  cross  his  plane  of  vision.  There  was 
some  talking  and  laughter;  an  Englishman  made 
a  jest,  and  a  Spaniard  answered  with  a  proverb. 
The  latter's  voice  struck  some  chord  in  Arden 's 
memory,  but  struck  it  faintly.  "Now  where 
have  I  heard  that  voice?"  he  asked,  but  found 
no  answer,  The  noise  and  the  light  passed  on- 


ward  to  the  citadel,  and  with  a  brief  good-night 
to  a  passing  sentinel  he  himself  turned  to  take  his 
rest. 

The  next  day  at  noon  Feme  deliberately, 
though  with  white  lips  and  half-closed  eyelids, 
crossed  the  market  square,  and  sought  out  Sir 
John  N  evil's  quarters.  By  the  soldiers  in  the 
great  hall  he  was  told  that  Sir  John  was  Vvrith  the 
Admiral — would  he  wait?  He  nodded,  and  sat 
himself  down  upon  a  settle  in  the  hall.  The 
guard  and  those  who  came  and  went  eyed  him 
curiously;  sometimes  whispered  words  reached 
his  ears.  Once,  when  he  had  waited  a  long  time, 
a  soldier  brought  him  a  jack  of  ale.  He  drank 
of  it  gratefully  and  thanked  the  donor.  The 
soldier  fidgeted,  lowered  his  voice.  "  I  fought 
under  you,  Sir  Mortimer  Feme,  at  Fayal  in  the 
Azores.  You  brought  us  that  day  out  of  the 
jaws  of  death,  and  we  swore  you  were  too  much 
for  Don  or  devil! — and  we  drank  to  you  that 
evening,  full  measure  of  ale! — and  we  took  our 
oath  that  we  had  served  far  and  near  under  many 
a  captain,  but  none  like  you — " 

Feme  smiled.  "Was  it  so,  soldier?  Well, 
may  I  drink  to  you  now  who  drank  to  me  then?" 


He  drew  the  ale  towards  him  but  kept  his  eyes 
upon  the  other's  countenance.  The  man  red 
dened  from  brow  to  bared  throat,  but  his  words 
came  at  once,  and  there  was  moisture  in  his  blue 
eyes.  "  If  my  old  captain  will  do  me  so  much 
honor — "  he  began,  unsteadily.  Feme  with  a 
smile  raised  his  jack  to  his  lips  and  drank  to  him 
health  and  happy  life  and  duty  faithfully  done. 

When,  after  stammered  thanks,  the  man  was 
gone,  the  other  waited  hour  after  hour  the  ap 
pearance  of  Sir  John  Nevil.  At  last  he  came 
striding  down  the  hall  to  the  stair,  but  swerving 
suddenly  when  he  caught  sight  of  Feme,  crossed 
to  the  settle,  and  gave  him  quiet  greeting.  "  Sir 
Francis  kept  me  overlong,"  he  said.  "  How  has 
gone  the  day,  Mortimer?" 

"The  fever  lessens,"  answered  the  other. 
"There  are  not  many  now  will  die.  .  .  .  May  I 
speak  to  you  where  there  are  fewer  eyes?" 

A  few  moments  later,  in  Sir  John's  room,  he 
took  from  his  doublet  a  slip  of  paper.  "  This  was 
brought  to  me  some  hours  ago.  Is  it  an  order?" 

"Ay,"  said  Nevil,  without  touching  the  out- 
held  paper.  "An  order." 

Feme  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  there, 
320 


looking  out  upon  the  passers-by  in  the  street  be 
low.  One  and  all  seemed  callow  souls  who  had 
met  neither  angel  nor  devil,  heard  neither  the 
thunderbolt  nor  the  still  small  voice.  Desper 
ately  weary,  set  to  a  task  which  appalled  him, 
he  felt  again  the  sting  of  a  lash  to  which  he  had 
thought  himself  inured.  There  was  a  longing 
upon  him  that  this  insistent  probing  of  his  wound 
should  cease.  Better  the  Indians  and  the  fearful 
woods,  and  Death  ever  a- tiptoe !  better  the  stu 
pendous  strife  of  the  lonely  soul  to  maintain 
its  dominion,  to  say  to  overtoppling  nature,  to 
death,  and  to  despair,  /  am.  There  was  no  man 
who  could  help  the  soul.  .  .  .  This  earthly  prop 
ping  of  a  withered  plant,  this  drawing  of  tattered 
arras  over  a  blood-stained  wall,  what  was  it  to 
the  matter?  For  the  moment  all  his  being  was 
for  black,  star-touching  mountains,  for  the  wild 
hurry  of  league-long  rapids,  the  calling  and  cry 
ing  of  the  forest ; — the  next  he  turned  again  to 
the  room  with  some  quiet  remark  as  to  the  ap 
parent  brewing  of  a  storm  in  the  western  skies. 
Nevil  bent  upon  him  a  troubled  look. 

"  It  was  my  wish,  Mortimer,  to  which  Drake 
gave  ready  assent.     It  is,  as  you  see,  an  order  for 
33  321 


your  presence  to-night,  with  other  gentlemen  vol 
unteers,  at  this  great  banquet  with  which  the 
Spaniard  takes  leave  of  us.  Shall  I  counter 
mand  it?" 

"No,"  answered  the  other.  "My  duty  is  to 
you — I  could  not  pay  my  debt  if  I  strove  for 
ever  and  a  day.  You  are  my  captain,  —  when 
you  order  I  obey." 

A  silence  followed,  during  which  Sir  Mortimer 
stood  at  the  window  and  Sir  John  paced  the  floor. 
At  last  the  former  spoke,  lightly:  "  There  will  be 
a  storm  to-night.  ...  I  must  go  comfort  that 
knave  of  mine.  At  times  he  doth  naught  but 
babble  of  things  at  home — at  Feme  House.  This 
morn  it  was  winter  to  him,  and  in  this  burning 
land  he  talked  of  snowflakes  falling  beneath  the 
Yule-tide  stars;  yea!  and  when  he  has  spoken 
pertly  to  the  sexton  he  needs  must  go  a-carolling : 

'"There  comes  a  ship  far  sailing  then, — 
St.  Michael  was  the  steersman; 
St.  John  sate  in  the  horn; 
Our  Lord  harped;  Our  Lady  sang, 
And  all  the  bells  of  heaven  rang.'" 

He  sang  the  verse  lightly,  as  simply  and  sweet- 
ly  as  Robin  had  sung  it,  then  with  a  smile  turned 

322 


to  go ;  and  in  passing  Nevil  laid  a  slight  caressing 
touch  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Until  to-night  then, 
John ! — and,  by'r  Lady !  seeing  that  you  will  be 
at  the  top  of  the  board  and  I  at  the  bottom,  I 
do  think  that  I  may  hear  nothing  worth  betray 
ing!" 

Sir  John  uttered  an  ejaculation,  and  would 
have  taken  again  the  folded  paper,  but  the  other 
withstood  him,  and  quietly  went  his  way  to 
kneel  beside  Robin-a-dale,  give  up  his  hand  to 
tears  and  kisses  (for  Robin  was  very  weak,  and 
thought  his  master  cruel  to  leave  him  so  long 
alone),  to  the  youth's  unchecked  babble  of  all 
things  that  in  his  short  life  appertained  to  Feme 
House  and  to  its  master. 

Sir  Francis  Drake  and  Alonzo  Brava  had  come 
to  a  mind  in  regard  to  the  ransom  for  the  town. 
If  the  English  gained  not  so  large  a  sum  as  they 
had  hoped  for,  yet  theirs  was  the  glory  of  the  en 
terprise,  and  Drake's  eye  was  yet  upon  Nombre 
de  Dios.  If  the  Spaniards  had  lost  money  and 
men  and  had  looked  on  day  by  day  at  the  slow 
dilapidation  of  their  city,  yet  they  had  riches  left, 
and  the  life  of  the  Spanish  soldier  was  cheap,  and 
that  ruined  portion  of  the  town  might  be  built 

323 


g>ir 

again.  Agreements  had  been  drawn  as  to  the 
ransom  of  the  city  of  Cartagena  and  signed  by 
each  leader, — by  Brava  with  the  pious  (but  si 
lent)  wish  that  the  fleet  might  be  miraculously 
destroyed  before  the  drying  of  the  ink;  and  by 
Drake  with  one  of  his  curious  mental  reserva 
tions,  concerning  in  this  case  the  block-house  and 
the  great  priory  just  without  the  city.  Matters 
being  thus  settled  and  the  next  morning  named 
for  the  British  evacuation  of  Christendom,  needs 
must  pass  the  usual  courtesies  between  the  then 
stateliest  people  of  Cartagena  and  the  bluntest. 
Alonzo  Brava,  in  all  honesty,  invited  to  supper 
with  him  in  his  dismantled  citadel  Sir  Francis 
Drake,  Sir  John  Nevil,  and  all  officers  and  gen 
tlemen  within  the  English  forces.  Drake  as 
frankly  accepted  the  courtesy  for  himself  and  all 
who  might  be  spared  from  the  final  labors  of  the 
night. 

In  the  late  evening,  by  a  stormy  light  which, 
seen  through  the  high,  wide,  and  open  windows, 
seemed  to  pit  itself  against  the  approaching 
darkness,  Brava,  motioning  to  right  and  left, 
seated  himself  with  his  principal  guests  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  while  his  chamberlains  busied 

324 


themselves  with  serving  the  turn  of  lesser  names. 
Captains  and  officers,  gentlemen  and  volunteers 
of  wealth  and  birth,  fell  into  place,  while  the  end 
of  the  table  left  was  for  needier  adventurers, 
scapegrace  and  out-at-elbow  volunteers.  Noise 
less  attendants  went  to  and  fro.  Great  num 
bers  of  candles,  large  as  torches,  were  lighted, 
but  the  prolonged  orange  glare  which  entered 
the  western  windows  seemed  to  have  some 
quality  distinct  from  light,  by  virtue  of  which 
men's  features  were  not  clearly  seen.  Distant 
thunder  rolled,  but  when  it  passed  one  heard 
from  the  gallery  above  the  hall  Spanish  music. 
The  feast  marched  on  in  triumph,  much  as  it 
might  have  done  in  any  camp  (where  Famine 
was  not  King)  beneath  any  flag  of  truce.  Here 
the  viands  were  in  quantity,  and  there  was  wine 
to  spill  even  after  friend  and  foe  had  been 
loudly  pledged.  Free  men,  sea-rovers,  and  sol 
diers  of  fortune,  it  was  for  them  no  courtier's 
banquet.  Only  the  presence  at  table  of  their 
leaders  kept  the  wassail  down.  Now  and  again 
the  thunder  shook  the  hall,  making  all  sounds  be 
neath  its  own  as  the  shrilling  of  a  cicada;  then, 
the  long  roll  past,  the  music  took  new  heart, 

325 


while  below  it  went  on  the  laughter  and  the 
soldier  wit,  babble  of  sore  wounds,  of  camp- 
fires,  and  high  -  decked  ships  —  tales  wild  and 
grim  or  broadly  humorous.  At  the  cross-table 
opposite  and  a  little  below  Sir  John  Nevil,  who 
was  seated  at  Brava's  left  hand,  was  a  vacant 
seat.  It  awaited  (the  Governor  explained)  the 
envoy  whom  he  had  sent  out  to  hardly  gather 
the  remainder  of  the  ransom  of  Cartagena.  The 
length,  the  heat,  and  danger  of  the  journey  had 
outwearied  the  envoy,  who  was  a  gentleman  of 
as  great  a  girth  as  spirit.  Later,  despite  his 
indisposition,  he  would  join  them. 

He  came,  and  it  was  Pedro  Mexia.  From 
Nevil  and  Arden  and  several  of  Sir  John's  old 
officers  of  the  Mere  Honour  burst  more  or  less 
suppressed  exclamations.  Nevil,  from  his  van 
tage-point,  sent  a  lightning  glance  far  down  the 
table,  where  were  gathered  those  whose  rank 
or  station  barely  brought  them  within  this  hall, 
but  what  with  the  massed  fruit,  the  candles, 
this  or  that  outstretched"  hand  and  shoulder,  he 
could  not  see  to  the  lowest  at  the  table,  and 
he  heard  no  sound  to  match  his  own  or  Arden's 
ejaculation.  Mexia,  who  had  lingered  with  his 

326 


own  wine-cup  and  associates,  now,  after  the 
moment  of  general  welcome,  seated  himself 
heavily.  His  first  gaze  had  been  naturally  for 
Francis  Drake,  the  man  whose  name  was  waxing 
ever  louder  in  Spanish  ears,  but  now  in  the  act 
of  raising  his  tankard  his  eyes  and  those  of  the 
sometime  conqueror  of  Nueva  Cordoba  came 
together.  For  a  second  his  hand  shook,  then  he 
tossed  off  the  wine,  and  putting  down  his  tank 
ard  with  some  noise,  leaned  half-way  across  the 
table. 

"Ha!  we  meet  again,  Sir  John  Nevil  —  and 
after  four  years  of  mortal  life  we  be  a-ransoming 
yet!  You  see  I  have  not  lost  your  tongue — 
although  I  lost  my  teachers!"  He  laughed 
at  the  tag  to  his  speech,  being  drunk  enough 
to  make  utter  mischief,  •  out  of  sheer  good 
nature. 

"  Doth  Master  Francis  Sark  still  teach  you 
English?"  asked  Nevil,  coldly. 

"Francis  Sark — who  is  Francis  Sark?"  maun 
dered  the  fuddled  envoy.  "There  was  the  fool 
Desmond,  who  overreached  himself  trying  to 
bargain  with  Luiz  de  Guardiola.  Those  who 
do  that  have  strange  fates!" 

327 


Arden  from  a  place  or  two  below  put  in 
lightly:  ''Well,  our  Sark  equals  your  Des 
mond.  And  so  he  bargained  with  Don  Luiz  de 
Guardiola?" 

Mexia's  eyes  wandered  to  the  other's  face. 
"Ha,  senor!  I  remember  your  face  at  Nueva 
Cordoba!  Have  we  here  more  of  our  con 
quered?"  His  speech  began  with  the  pomp  of 
the  frog  in  the  fable,  but  at  this  point  became 
maudlin  again  and  returned  to  the  one-time 
Governor  of  Nueva  Cordoba's  dealings  with 
his  creatures.  "Why,  Desmond  was  a  fool  to 
name  such  a  price.  One  hundred  pesos,  perhaps 
— but  four  thousand !  But  Don  Luiz  smiled  and 
paid  down  the  silver,  and  the  fool  that  was 
traitor  to  us  and  traitor  to  you  and  traitor  to 
himself  told  all  things  and  was  hanged  for  his 
pains."  Up  went  his  tankard  to  his  lips,  and 
as  it  descended  wine  was  spilt  upon  his  neighbor's 
sleeve.  The  victim  drew  away  with  a  smothered 
oath,  and  Brava  eyed  with  displeasure  his 
drunken  associate. 

"Why,  for  what  could  the  man  ask  such  a 
price?"  Arden  asked,  with  light  surprise. 

In  a  moment  the  other's  large  and  vacuous 
328 


countenance  became  sober  enough.  "  For  a  trap 
to  catch  flies,"  he  said,  shortly,  and  turning  his 
shoulder  to  all  but  the  men  of  highest  rank, 
again  wetted  his  throat,  then  let  his  empty 
tankard  touch  the  board  with  a  clattering 
sound. 

From  the  first  he  had  drawn  attention,  and 
now  at  the  drumming  of  the  tankard  most 
faces  turned  his  way.  Nevil  spoke  to  Drake 
beneath  his  breath ;  the  latter  bending  towards 
Alonzo  Brava,  addressed  him  in  a  very  low 
tone.  Brava,  deeply  annoyed,  on  the  point 
of  signalling  his  servitors  to  quietly  persuade 
from  the  table  his  drunken  guest,  listened, 
though  still  frowning.  A  final  whisper  from 
Drake: 

"In  no  way  toucheth  your  honor,  a  private 
matter — favors — ransom — ' ' 

The  governor,  leaning  forward,  playing  with 
his  wine,  gave  some  sign  of  acquiescence — 
perhaps,  indeed,  may  have  had  his  own  in 
differences  to  any  blackening  of  the  character 
of  Don  Luiz  de  Guardiola,  now  flourishing  at 
Madrid  like  a  green  bay-tree. 

Mexia  was  displaying  profound  skill  in  the 
329 


nice  balancement  of  his  tankard  as  the  servant 
behind  him  refilled  the  measure.  "Ha,  Don 
Pedro!"  cried  Drake,  with  his  bluff  laugh,  "art 
on  that  four -years-gone  matter  of  Nueva  Cor 
doba?  Methinks  Sir  John  Nevil  brought  off  a 
knightly  sufficiency  of  credit— 

"  Sir  John  Nevil— Oh!  Ay!"  said  Mexia,  and 
with  both  hands  carefully  lowered  the  tankard 
to  the  level  of  the  table.  "Did  Sir  Mortimer 
Feme  bring  forth  such  a — what's  the  word? — 
knightly  sufficiency  ?  Now  I've  often  wondered — 
Tis  true  I  had  my  grudge  against  him  also,  but 
in  such  matters  I  go  not  so  far  as  De  Guardiola, 
who  brands  the  soul.  ...  I  told  Don  Luiz  as  much 
four  years  ago.  'Why,  I  kill  my  man,'  quoth  I, 
1  and  go  on  my  way  singing.' ' 

"And  what  said  he  to  that?"  queried  Arden, 
lightly  and  easily  drawing  on  Mexia,  who,  in  his 
cups,  became  merely  a  garrulous  old  man. 

"  Why,"  continued  the  envoy,  "  he  said,  *  May 
hap  the  dead  do  not  remember.  So  live,  my 
foe!  but  live  in  hell,  remembering  the  brand 
upon  thy  soul,  and  that  'twas  I  who  set  it  glow 
ing  there!'" 

A  murmur  ran  the  length  of  the  table.     Mexia 

33° 


suddenly  found  himself  of  a  steadier  brain  with 
somewhat  stronger  interest  in  rencontres  new  or 
old.  "Ha!  Sir  Mortimer  Feme  and  his  knot 
of  velvet!  Don  Luiz  ground  that  beneath  his 
heel.  .  .  .  Well,  the  man's  dead,  no  doubt.  I've 
wondered  more  than  once  if  he  lived  or  died; 
if  he  beat  out  his  brains  as  he  strove  to  do;  if, 
thinking  better  o't,  he  merely  held  his  tongue 
and  nursed  his  broken  body ;  or  if  he  cried  aloud 
that  which  the  old  serpent  De  Guardiola  made 
him  believe,  and  henceforth  travelled  life's  high 
way  a  lazar !  .  .  .  And  that's  a  curious  thought : 
leper  to  himself — leper  to  his  world — leper's  cry 
— leper's  mantle,  with  the  cloth  across  his  face — 
and  beneath  it,  all  cleanliness,  with  not  a  soul 
but  God  to  know  it!"  He  gave  his  small, 
chuckling  laugh.  "  Oh,  I,  too,  have  thoughts;  I, 
too,  watch  the  play, — Pedro  Mexia,  senors,  is  not 
so  gross  of  wit  as  he  is  thought  to  be!" 

Nevil  leaned  across  the  table.  "  Leper  to 
himself,  and  to  his  world !  But  to  God  all  clean 
ly  beneath  that  mantle  which  he  drew  over  his 
forehead  and  his  eyes!  What  do  you  mean? 
Sir  Mortimer  Feme  declared  himself  a  coward 
and  a  traitor!" 


g>ir 

"So!"  said  Mexia.  "Well!  'Twas  falsely 
sworn.  Desmond  was  the  man." 

Sir  John  turned  with  rapid  speech  to  his  host. 
Alonzo  Brava  addressed  Mexia,  who  roused  him 
self  to  a  fair  appearance  of  sobriety.  "Worthy 
Don  Pedro,  all  here,  on  both  sides,  have  heard 
somewhat  of  this  story.  I  understand  that  the 
English  hidalgo  concerned  is  dead.  Don  Luiz 
de  Guardiola  is  in  Spain.  We  all  know  that  a 
simple  vengeance  never  sufficed  for  him  who 
was  of  those  who  by  their  cruelties  have  brought 
such  defamation  upon  our  name  in  the  Indies. 
I  see  not  that  you  do  injury  to  Spanish  honor 
by  giving  to  our  friends  of  one  night  as  much 
as  you  know  of  this  history." 

"Your  relation  will  make  us  so  greatly  your 
debtor,  Don  Pedro,"  said  Drake,  "that  to 
morrow,  ere  we  sail,  we  will  think  of  some  such 
token  as  may  justly  show  our  appreciation  of 
the  trouble  we  now  give  you.  Wilt  drink  with 
me?" 

The  tankards  clinked,  the  wine  went  down, 
and  the  flattered  Mexia  turned  his  round,  em 
purpled  countenance  to  Nevil.  "  Why,  see  you," 
he  said,  "'twas  easy  for  Desmond  to  find  the 

332 


secret  door  in  the  upper  room  in  the  Friar's 
house,  and,  stealing  down  by  the  stair  between 
the  walls  to  listen  at  the  hidden  grating  until  he 
had  by  heart  your  every  plan — but  'twas  not  so 
easy  to  escape  to  us!  It  lacked  half  an  hour 
of  sunset  when  be  brought  that  news  which 
since  noon  Don  Luiz  had  sought  with  fury  to 
wring  from  the  other." 

"From  the  other?" 

"From  Sir  Mortimer  Feme." 

An  Englishman  cried  out,  "Then  were  there 
two  traitors?"  but  Mexia,  who  by  now  was  some 
what  in  love  with  his  part  of  raconteur,  had  a 
grim  smile.  "There  was  one  Don  Luiz  de 
Guardiola.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  will  tell  you  what  you  wish 
to  know,  sefiors!  Be  not  so  impatient.  It  was 
without  the  room  where  lay  his  prisoner  that  he 
gathered  from  Desmond  news  indeed ;  and  it  was 
from  that  room  that  he  sent  Desmond  away, 
and  wrote  very  swiftly  order  after  order  to  his 
lieutenants.  Then  he  went  to  the  other  door 
and  called  out  Miguel,  who  says,  '  Now  and  then 
he  raves,  but  nothing  to  the  point !'  to  which  Don 
Luiz :  '  I  am  going  to  stand  beside  him.  You 
are  skilful.  Make  him  babble  like  a  child, 
333 


0tr  I 

scarce  knowing  what  he  says.  What  I  wanted 
from  him  matters  no  longer;  but  make  him 
speak — words,  broken  sentences,  cries! — I  care 
not  what.  Make  him  aware  that  he  holds  his 
tongue  no  longer,  make  him  struggle  for  silence 
there  beneath  my  eyes.' 

' '  He  calls  on  God  at  present,'  answers  Miguel. 
'I  thought  these  Lutherans  held  with  Satan.1 

'When  I  sign  to  you  — thus,'  goes  on  De 
Guardiola,  'bring  him  with  suddenness  into  a 
short  swoon.  Then  at  once  dash  water  upon 
his  face  and  breast.  When  he  cometh  to  him 
self,  which  (look  you)  must  be  shortly,  busy 
yourself  writh  putting  away  your  engines,  or  be 
officious  to  loosen  his  bonds,  keeping  a  smiling 
mien  as  of  one  whose  day's  work  is  done ;  in  short, 
in  what  subtle  fashion  you  may,  do  you  and  your 
helpers  add  to  that  assurance  that  I  myself  shall 
give  him.  Do  your  part  well  and  there  will  be 
reward,  for  I  have  at  heart  a  whim  that  I  would 
gratify.'  So  we  went  into  the  next  room." 

"We!"  said  Nevil  deeply,  and  "By  God,  this 
man  was  there!"  breathed  Drake,  and  Arden 
ground  his  teeth.  The  silence  which  had  spell 
bound  the  company  broke  sharply  here  or  there, 

334 


then,  breathless,  men  again  bent  forward,  wait 
ing  for  the  last  word  of  the  story  whose  ending 
they  already  guessed.  Alonzo  Brava,  a  knightly 
soul  enough,  sat  grim  and  red,  repentant  that 
he  had  given  loose  rein  to  Mexia's  tongue. 
Mexia,  undisturbed,  genial  with  his  wine,  and 
of  a  retrospective  turn  of  mind,  went  smoothly, 
even  dreamily  on  with  his  episode  of  a  four- 
years-past  struggle.  He  had  scarcely  noticed 
the  slip  of  the  tongue  by  which  he  had  in 
cluded  himself  with  Luiz  de  Guardiola  and  his 
ministers. 

''Well.  ...  He  lay  there  indeed,  and  called 
upon  God;  and  now  and  then  he  cried  to  men 
and  women  we  knew  not  of.  But  when  he 
saw  that  De  Guardiola  was  in  the  room,  he  fell 
silent — like  that ! 

'"Tell  me  this — and  this — and  this,'  says  Don 
Luiz  at  his  side.  '  Then  shall  you  go  free.  You 
are  your  Admiral's  dearest  friend ;  you  are  high 
in  the  English  council.  Even  before  you  be 
came  my  prisoner  was  there  not  a  general  attack 
planned  for  to-night?  Tell  me  its  nature  and 
the  hour.  What  force  will  be  left  upon  the 
ships?  What  will  be  the  word  of  the  night? 

335 


Tell  me  if  you  know  aught  of  a  secret  way  by 
which  the  battery  may  be  flanked!' 

"Well,  he  was  silent,  and  Don  Luiz  stamped 
upon  the  floor.  'You  are  too  slow  of  speech, 
senor.  Miguel,  make  him  speak.  I  have  no 
time  to  loiter  here!' " 

Mexia  moistened  his  lips  with  his  wine.  "  What 
do  you  ask  with  your  white  faces  and  great  eyes, 
senors?  .  .  .  Oh,  yes,  he  was  made  to  speak — 
to  cry  out  to  the  Lutheran's  God,  to  gasp  his 
defiance  to  Don  Luiz  waiting  with  folded  arms 
— to  wander,  as  they  sometimes  do,  thinking 
friends  about  him,  making  appeal  to  the  living 
and  the  dead  to  pluck  him  out  of  hell!  at  last, 
with  froth  upon  his  lips,  to  murmur  like  a  child 
who  knows  not  War  nor  one  of  its  usages ;  like 
a  heretic  who  communes  with  God  direct.  .  .  . 
I  am  no  better  than  I  am,  but  I  know  courage 
when  I  see  it,  and  I  tell  you,  Don  Alonzo,  that 
in  his  torment  and  his  weakness  that  man  was 
strong  to  sweep  clear  his  mind  of  aught  that  was 
to  De  Guardiola's  purpose.  If  nature  must  give 
voice  to  her  anguish,  then,  with  bound  hands,  he 
kept  her  far  from  the  garden  of  his  honor.  This 
until  the  very  last,  when  he  lost  knowledge  in- 

336 


deed  of  what  the  tongue  might  say,  and  bit  at 
his  bound  arms  struggling  to  hold  his  peace. 
Then  De  Guardiola  signed  for  the  turn  of  the 


screw." 


At  the  end  of  the  table,  a  few  moments  be 
fore,  a  man  had  left  his  place  with  no  noise, 
and  stooping  was  now  slowly  making  his  way 
behind  the  forward  bent  row  of  guests,  towards 
the  table  of  honor.  Mexia,  making  full  stop, 
drank  his  wine,  and,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
stared  thoughtfully  before  him.  Amongst  his 
auditors  there  was  an  instant  of  breathless  ex 
pectation,  then  Drake  cried  impatiently,  "Make 
a  finish,  man!" 

"There  is  no  more,"  said  Mexia.  "He  never 
told,  never  betrayed.  When  he  awoke  from  that 
momentary  swoon  there  was  surcease  of  torment, 
there  were  Miguel  and  his  fellows  making  ready 
to  take  leave  of  the  day's  work;  his  bonds  were 
loosed,  wine  held  to  his  lips;  Don  Luiz  stood 
over  him  with  a  smile,  and  still  smiling  sent  for 
the  Commandant  of  the  battery.  All  that  Des 
mond  had  brought  to  Don  Luiz  was  told  over, 
orders  were  written  and  sent  in  haste,  naught 
was  left  undone  that  De  Guardiola 's  guile  might 
2'  337 


suggest.  He  believed— he  could  not  choose  but 
to  believe — that  in  his  madness  of  words  and 
half  -  conscious  utterances,  from  very  failure  of 
will  and  weakness  of  soul  and  lack  of  knightly 
honor,  he  had  refused  to  endure,  and  had  be 
trayed  the  English  to  surprise  and  death." 

The  man  who  had  moved  from  his  seat  was 
now  so  near  to  the  notable  guests  that  when, 
drawing  himself  up,  he  placed  his  hand  upon 
Arden's  shoulder,  he  came  face  to  face  with  Pedro 
Mexia.  The  latter,  uttering  a  strangled  cry, 
threw  up  his  hands  as  though  to  ward  off  an 
apparition.  With  a  sudden  spring,  one  booted 
foot  upon  Arden's  heavy  chair,  the  figure  leaped 
upon  the  table,  disarranging  all  its  glittering 
array,  and  for  a  second  facing  the  company 
which  had  arisen  with  excitement  and  outcry. 
The  next,  like  a  dart,  he  crossed  the  intervening 
space  and  threw  himself  upon  Mexia,  dragging 
the  bulky  form  from  the  table  and  hurling  it  to 
the  floor.  Weaponless,  the  assaulter  had  used  his 
hands,  and  now  with  a  knee  upon  Mexia's  breast 
he  strove  to  throttle  him.  When,  Spanish  and 
English,  those  that  were  nearest  of  Don  Alonzo's 
guests  were  upon  him,  the  face  that  he  turned 

338 


over  his  shoulder  showed  an  intolerable  white 
fury  of  wrath.  "Thy  sword,  John  Nevil!"  he 
gasped.  "Thou  seest  I  wear  none!  Arden, 
thou'rt  no  friend  of  mine  if  thou  flingst  me  not 
thy  dagger !  .  .  .  Ah  dog !  that  companied  with 
the  hell-hound  of  the  pack,  loll  thy  tongue  out 
now!  Let  thy  eyeballs  start  from  the  socket — " 

When  the  two  men  were  separated,  the  one 
lay  huddled  and  unconscious  against  his  chair, 
and  the  other  stood  with  iron  composure, 
glancing  from  the  unconscious  envoy  to  his  host 
Alonzo  Brava.  "I  know  not  who  you  are, 
serior,"  spoke  the  latter,  with  anger  hardly 
controlled,  "but  you  have  broken  truce  and  done 
bodily  injury  to  my  guest,  who  not  being  able 
at  the  moment  to  speak  for  himself— 

"Your  pardon,  senor,  for  any  discourtesy  tow 
ards  my  host,"  answered  Feme.  "And  I  would 
give  you  satisfaction  here  an£  now  if  —  if— 
He  looked  down  upon  his  empty  hands.  The 
gesture  was  seen  of  all.  Made  by  him,  it  came 
as  one  of  those  slight  acts  which  have  a  power  to 
pierce  the  heart  and  enlighten  the  understanding. 
Unconscious  as  it  was,  the  movement  rent  away 
the  veil  of  four  years,  broke  any  remnant  of  the 

339 


g>tr    4M 

spell  that  was  upon  the  English,  set  him  high 
and  clear  before  them — the  peer  of  Francis 
Drake,  of  John  Nevil,  of  Raleigh  and  of  Sidney. 
This  was  Sir  Mortimer  Feme,  and  there  was  that 
which  he  lacked !  Up  and  down  the  room  there 
ran  a  sudden  sound  of  steel  drawn  swiftly  from 
metal,  leather,  or  velvet  sheaths.  "My  sword, 
Sir  Mortimer  Feme!"  "Mine!"  "And  mine!" 
"Do  mine  honor,  Sir  Mortimer  Feme!"  "Sir 
Mortimer  Feme,  take  mine!" 

Feme's  hand  closed  upon  the  hilt  which  Nevil 
had  silently  offered,  and  he  turned  to  salute  his 
antagonist,  whose  pallor  now  matched  his  own. 
"Are  you  that  English  knight?"  demanded 
Brava  with  dry  lips.  "Then  in  courtesy  alone 
will  we  cross  blades — no  more!" 

The  steel  clashed,  the  points  fell,  and  Spaniard 
and  Englishman  bowed  gravely  each  to  the 
other.  "I  thank  you,"  said  Feme  hoarsely. 
"With  your  permission,  senor,  I  will  say  good 
night.  You  will  understand,  I  think,  that  I 
would  be  alone." 

"That  we  must  all  understand,"  said  Alonzo 
Brava.  "  Our  good  wishes  travel  with  you,  senor." 

Sir  Mortimer  turned,  and  from  the  younger, 
340 


more  heedless  adventurers  broke  a  ringing  shout, 
a  repeated  calling  of  his  name  until  it  echoed 
from  the  lofty  roof,  but  his  friends  spoke  not 
to  him,  only  made  an  aisle  through  which  he 
might  pass.  His  arm  was  raised,  Nevil's  sword 
a  gleaming  line  along  the  dark  velvet  of  his 
sleeve.  The  face  seen  below  the  lifted  arm  was 
very  strange,  written  over  with  a  thousand 
meanings.  The  poise  of  the  figure  and  the  light 
upon  the  sword  increased  the  effect  of  height, 
the  effect  of  the  one-night-whitened  hair.  There 
was,  moreover,  the  gleam  and  shadow  of  the 
countenance,  evident  forge tfulness  of  time  or 
place,  the  desire  of  the  soul  to  be  out  with 
night  and  storm  and  miracles.  The  English 
drew  farther  back,  and  he  went  by  them  like  an 
apparition. 

Later  in  the  night  Nevil  and  Arden,  after 
fruitless  search,  came  upon  a  space  where  the 
wall  of  Cartagena  rose  sheer  above  the  water. 
To-night  the  sea  roared  in  their  ears,  but  the 
storm  had  gone  by,  leaving  upon  the  horizon 
a  black  and  rugged  bank  of  cloud  rimmed  by 
great  beacon  stars.  Down  through  a  wide  rift 
in  the  clouds  streamed  light  from  a  haloed  moon. 
34i 


Beneath  it,  seated  upon  the  stone,  his  hands 
clasped  about  his  knees  and  a  gleaming  sword 
laid  across  them  was  the  man  they  sought.  His 
head  was  lifted  and  the  moon  gave  light  enough 
by  which  to  read  the  lineaments  of  a  good  knight 
and  true,  brave,  of  stainless  honor,  a  lover  of 
things  of  good  repute,  pure  gold  to  his  friends, 
generous  to  his  foes,  gentle  to  the  weak,  tender 
and  pitiful  of  all  who  sinned  or  suffered.  He 
heard  their  footsteps  on  the  stone,  and,  rising, 
went  to  meet  them.  "  It  hath  been  a  wonderful 
night,"  he  said.  "Look,  how  great  is  the  ring 
about  the  moon!  and  the  air  after  the  storm 
blows  from  far  countries.  .  .  .  They  have  come 
to  me  one  after  another — all  the  men  of  the 
Cygnet,  and  the  Phcenix,  and  the  land  force. 
Henry  Sedley  sat  beside  me,  with  his  arm  about 
my  shoulder;  and  Captain  Robert  Baldry  and 
I  have  clasped  hands,  foregoing  our  quarrel. 
And  the  crew  of  the  Sea  Wraith  went  by  like 
shadows.  I  know  not  if  I  did  wrongly  by  them, 
but  if  it  be  so  I  will  abide  God's  judgment  be 
tween  us  when  I,  too,  am  dead.  And  I  am  not 
yet  for  the  Low  Countries,  Arden!  I  am  for 
England — England,  England !" 

342 


They  leaned  against  the  parapet  and  looked 
out  upon  the  now  gleaming  sea,  the  rack  of  the 
clouds  and  the  broken  cohorts  of  the  stars. 
They  looked  out  to  the  glistening  line  where  the 
water  met  the  east.  "  Home  ward  to-morrow!" 
said  Arden,  and  Feme  asked,  "What  are  thy 
ships,  John?"  and  Nevil  answered,  "The  one  is 
the  Mere  Honour,  the  other  I  have  very  lately 
renamed  the  Cygnet.  Wilt  be  her  captain, 
Mortimer,  from  here  to  Plymouth  Port?" 

The  Countess  of  Pembroke,  in  mourning  for 
her  parents,  was  spending  a  midsummer  month 
in  leafy  Penshurst.  It  was  a  drowsy  month,  of 
roses  fully  blown  and  heavy  lilies,  of  bees 
booming  amongst  all  honey  flowers,  of  shady 
copses  and  wide  sunlit  fields ;  and  it  was  a  quiet 
month  because  of  the  Countess's  mourning  and 
because  Philip  Sidney  was  Governor  of  Flushing. 
Therefore,  save  for  now  and  then  a  messenger 
bringing  news  from  London  or  Wilton  or  from 
that  loved  brother  in  the  Netherlands,  the 
Countess,  her  women,  and  a  page  or  two  made 
up  the  company  at  Penshurst.  The  pages  and 
the  young  gentlewomen  (all  under  the  eye  of 

343 


an  aged  majordomo)  moved  sedately  in  the  old 
house,  pacing  soberly  the  gardens  beneath  the 
open  casements;  but  when  they  reached  the 
sweet  rusticity  of  the  outward  ways,  fruit-drop 
ping  orchards  and  sunny  spaces,  they  were  for 
lighter  spirits,  heels,  and  wits.  With  laughter 
young  hand  caught  at  young  hand,  and  fair 
forms  circled  swiftly  an  imaginary  May-pole. 
Tall  flowers  upon  the  Med way's  brim  next  took 
their  eye,  and  they  gathered  pink  and  white  and 
purple  sheaves;  then,  limed  by  the  mere  joy 
of  work,  caught  up  and  plied  the  rakes  of  the 
haymakers.  The  meadows  became  lists,  their 
sudden  employment  a  joust-at-arms,  and  some 
slender  youth  crowned  the  swiftest  workwoman 
with  field  flowers,  withering  in  the  nearest 
swathe.  All  wove  garlands,  then  made  for  the 
shade  of  the  trees  and  shared  a  low  basket  of 
golden  apples.  One  had  a  lute  and  another  sang 
a  love  ditty  with  ethereal  passion.  They  were 
in  Arcadia, — silken  shepherdesses,  slim  princes  in 
disguise, — and  they  breathed  the  sweetness,  the 
innocent  yet  lofty  grace  which  was  the  country's 
natal  air. 

"  Sidney's  sister,   Pembroke's,  mother,"  kept 
344 


much,  in  her  gentle,  filial  sorrow,  to  her  great 
chamber  above  the  gardens,  where  she  wrote  and 
studied,  and  to  her  closet,  where  before  an  eastern 
window  was  set  the  low  chair  beside  which  she 
kneeled  in  prayer  for  her  living  and  her  dead. 
She  prayed  much  alone,  but  once  a  day,  when 
the  morn  was  young,  she  sent  for  one  who  was 
named  her  gentlewoman  indeed,  but  to  whom 
all  her  train  gave  deference,  knowing  of  the  love 
between  this  lady  and  their  mistress.  The  lady 
came,  beautiful,  patient,  with  lips  that  smiled 
on  life,  and  wonderful  dark  eyes  in  which  the 
smile  was  drowned.  The  Countess  took  her 
morning  kiss  and  the  fair  coolness  of  her  pressed 
cheek,  then  praised  the  flowers  in  her  hands,  all 
jewelled  with  the  dew — a  lovely  posy  to  be  set 
amongst  the  Countess's  little  library  of  pious 
works.  Then  on  this  as  on  other  days  the  two 
fair  women  read  together,  their  soft  voices  mak 
ing  tremulous  music  of  the  stately  Latin.  The 
reading  done,  they  kneeled  side  by  side,  dark 
hair  against  light,  praying  silently,  each  her  own 
prayers.  It  was  a  morning  rite,  poignantly 
dear  to  them  both;  it  began  and  helped  upon 
its  way  the  livelong  lingering  day.  They  arose 

345 


and  kissed,  and  presently  the  Countess  spoke 
of  letters  which  she  must  write.  "Then,"  said 
the  other,  "I  will  go  sit  by  the  fountain  until 
you  wish  for  me." 

"  The  fountain !"  answered  Mary  Sidney.  "Ah, 
Damaris !  I  would  that  thou  mightst  forget  the 
fountain.  I  would  that  other  blooms  than  red 
roses  were  planted  there!" 

"  That  would  not  I !"  the  other  answered.  "  I 
love  the  fountain.  And  once  a  red  rose  meant 
to  me — Paradise!" 

"Then  go  thy  ways,  and  gather  thy  roses," 
said  the  Countess  fondly.  "I  would  give  thee 
Heaven  an  I  could — so  that  thou  stayed  upon 
earth  with  thy  fairing!" 

The  Countess  sat  herself  down  to  write  to 
Philip  Sidney,  not  knowing  that  he  was  so 
near  the  frontier  whence  no  living  messenger,  no 
warm  and  loving  cry  could  ever  draw  him  back. 
Damans,  a  book  in  her  hand,  passed  through 
the  silent,  darkened  house  out  to  the  sunlit 
lawns.  Her  skirt  swept  the  enamelled  turf;  she 
touched  the  tallest  flowers  as  she  passed,  and 
they  bloomed  no  worse  for  that  light  caress. 
Poetry  was  in  her  every  motion,  and  she  was  too 

346 


beautiful  a  thing  to  be  so  sad.  She  made  no 
parade  of  grief.  Faint  smiles  came  and  went, 
and  all  things  added  to  her  birthright  of  grace. 
She  was  the  Countess's  almoner:  every  day  she 
did  good,  lessening  pain,  whispering  balm  to  the 
anguish-stricken,  speaking  as  with  authority  to 
troubled  souls.  Back  from  the  hovel  to  stately 
houses  she  went,  and  lo!  the  maid  of  honor,, 
exquisite,  perfect  as  a  flower.  Men  wooed,  but 
might  not  win  her.  They  came  and  went,  but  to 
her  it  was  no  matter.  In  her  eyes  still  burned 
the  patient  splendor  with  which  she  waited  for 
the  tide  to  take  her,  bearing  her  out  beyond 
the  shallows  to  one  who  also  tarried. 

With  a  gentle  sound  the  fountain  rose  and  fell 
in  a  gray  stone  basin.  Around  it  were  set  the 
rose-trees,  and  beyond  the  roses  tall  box  and 
yew  most  fantastically  clipped  screened  from 
observation  the  fairy  spot.  Damaris,  slowly 
entering,  became  at  once  the  spirit  of  the  place. 
She  paced  the  fountain's  grassy  rim  to  a  rustic 
seat  and  took  it  for  her  chair  of  state,  from 
which  for  a  while,  with  her  white  hands  behind 
her  head,  she  watched  the  silver  spray  and  the 
blue  midsummer  sky.  A  lark  sang,  but  so  high 
347 


in  the  blue  that  its  joyous  note  jarred  not  the 
languor  of  the  place.  Damaris  opened  her  book 
—but  what  need  of  written  poesy?  The  red 
roses  smelled  so  sweet  that  'twas  as  though  she 
lay  against  the  heart  of  one  royal  bloom.  She 
left  her  throne  and  trod  the  circle,  and  in  both 
hands  she  took  the  heavy  blossoms  and  pressed 
them  to  her  lips.  The  odor  was  like  warm  wine. 
"  Now  and  for  all  my  life,"  said  Damaris,  "  for  me 
one  faded  rose!  Afterwards,  two  in  a  garden 
like  this — like  this!" 

The  grass  was  so  green  and  warm  that  pres 
ently  she  lay  down  upon  it,  her  head  pillowed 
upon  her  arm,  her  eyes  gazing  through  the 
fountain  mist  and  down  the  emerald  slopes  to 
where  ran  the  elm  wood  avenue.  She  gazed  in 
idleness,  through  half -shut  eyelids,  wrapped 
in  lullabies  and  drowsy  warmth.  Hoof -beats 
between  the  elms  troubled  her  not.  When 
through  the  mist  of  falling  water  and  the  veil 
of  drooping  leaves  she  saw  riding  towards  the 
house  a  youth  clad  in  blue,  the  horse  and  rider 
seemed  but  figures  in  a  piece  of  tapestry.  Her 
satin  eyelids  closed,  and  if  other  riders  presently 
showed  in  the  tapestry  she  saw  them  not,  for 

348 


she  was  sound  asleep.  She  dreamed  of  a  masque 
at  Hampton  Court,  long  ago,  and  of  the  gown 
she  had  worn  and  how  merry  she  had  been,  and 
she  dreamed  of  the  Queen.  Then  her  dream 
changed  and  she  sat  with  Henry  Sedley  on  the 
sands  of  a  lost  sea-coast,  stretching  in  pale  levels 
beyond  the  ken  of  man.  The  surf  raced  tow 
ards  them  like  shadowy  white  horses,  and  a  red 
moon  hung  low  in  the  sky.  There  was  music 
in  the  air,  and  his  voice  was  speaking,  but  sud 
denly  the  sea  and  its  champing  horses  and  the 
red  moon  passed  away.  She  stirred,  and  now  it 
was  not  her  brother's  voice  that  spoke.  Green 
grass  was  beneath  her;  splendid  roses,  red  and 
gold,  were  censers  slowly  swinging;  the  silver 
fountain  leaped  as  if  to  meet  the  skylark's  song. 
Slowrly  Damaris  raised  herself  from  her  grassy 
bed  and  looked  with  widening  eyes  upon  an 
intruder.  "  I — I  went  to  sleep,"  she  said.  "  Is't 
Heaven  or  will  this  rose  also  fade?"  She  closed 
her  eyes  for  a  moment,  then,  opening  them,  "O 
my  dream!"  she  cried.  "Go  not  away!" 

The  sunlight  fell  upon  his  lifted  head,  and 
on  his  dress,  that  was  as  rich  as  any  bride 
groom's,  and  on  a  sword-knot  of  silver  gauze. 

349 


"Look  you  thus  in  Heaven,  O  my  King?"  she 
breathed. 

Sir  Mortimer  approached  her  very  slowly,  for 
he  saw  that  her  senses  strayed.  As  he  came 
nearer  she  shrank  against  the  wall  of  bloom. 
"  Dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  I  am  a  living  man,  and 
before  all  the  world  I  now  may  wear  thy  silver 
sleave."  But  the  rose  you  gave  me  once  before 
hath  withered  into  dust.  I  could  not  hold  it 
back.  Break  for  me  another  rose — DioneT 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  obeyed.  Into  her 
eyes  had  come  a  crescent  splendor,  upon  her  lips 
the  dawn  of  an  ineffable  smile ;  but  yet  troubled, 
yet  without  full  understanding,  she,  trembling, 
held  out  the  flower  at  arm's  length.  But  when 
Feme's  hand  closed  upon  hers,  when  she  felt 
herself  drawn  into  his  arms  and  his  kiss  upon 
her  lips,  his  whisper  in  her  ears,  she  awoke,  and 
thought  not  less  of  Heaven,  but  only  that 
Heaven  had  come  to  earth. 


THE   END 


OCT    10  1944 


LD  2l-95m-7,'37 


67182 


91288^ 


s 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


